CIA III: I Have Loved the Stars Too Fondly
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: Part three of my CIA Series which began with Followed and Nor Do They Understand. Tim is pulled from his life once more...but this time, his work may put the team at risk as well. Already complete. 34 chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This is part three of my CIA Series which began with _Followed_ and _Nor Do They Understand_. Reading them will, hopefully, not be required for enjoying the story, but you won't understand some of the references in this one without knowing what happened in the other two stories. The title of this story comes from "The Old Astronomer to His Pupil" by Sarah Williams.

**Disclaimer:** Only my OCs belong to me. I do not own any of the NCIS characters. They belong to DPB. It is unfortunate but it is the way it is.

* * *

**I Have Loved the Stars Too Fondly**...  
by Enthusiastic Fish

**Chapter 1**

"He looks rather peaceful while he's sleeping, don't you think?"

"What?"

"Look."

"We're not supposed to be looking into his apartment at all. Awake _or_ asleep. That's part of the assignment."

"...and it's a stupid part. If he's going to get taken, they won't politely wait until he's left."

"It doesn't matter what we think. You're new to this detail. We don't overstep our bounds. As soon as we do, we're no longer assigned to this op."

"Don't you get bored just watching?"

"No. Did you know that it's been over a year and he _still_ hasn't stopped looking over his shoulder? It's not over for him. What we are doing is important. It's not the most exciting assignment, but I believe it's one of the most vital."

"What exactly is he, that so many resources are being expended just to make sure that he stays safe?"

"That...I'm not completely sure of. All I know is that whatever else he is, he is someone others would risk a great deal to control should his abilities be known. Now, turn the equipment away from his apartment. That's an order."

"All right, fine. It's not like he'd know anyway. He's asleep."

The camera swung away...so the observer didn't see her target roll over...awake.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim opened his eyes, wondering what it was that had awakened him this time. Even now, hardly a night went by that he didn't wake up at least once, either from the dreams that still disturbed his slumber or from some nebulous feeling, one that he generally chalked up to an increased level of paranoia.

Laying on his back, he stared up at the ceiling and wondered how long it would take him to get to sleep again. He would, of course...but it was all a matter of how long. Was it worth getting up and walking around? Perhaps. He swung his legs over the side of his bed and wandered to the main room.

This was standard fair for him, had been for the last year...ever since his last encounter with the CIA. He sighed. On the surface, his life was back to normal. He was working. He hung out with his friends on occasion. He was even writing...but he couldn't really enjoy it, not like he used to. Sometimes, he could forget that he was under continual surveillance. Sometimes, he could forget that he was always under threat. Sometimes, he could even forget the secret he'd kept for the last year. It was so nice when that happened. It was nice to forget, but it never lasted and he was at the point now that he could almost accept his life as it was. In fact, if it weren't for the fact that he had to keep this secret, he really thought that he could move on. It was knowing that he was still hiding things from his friends that bothered him the most. Carew had kept his promise. The surveillance was subtle. Tim had seen them a couple of times. When that happened, he had gone up to them and told them so, knowing that he wouldn't see them again.

Tim sat down at his computer and looked just above and behind his monitors. There, mixed in with all his hard drives and junk was a box. It wasn't a normal box. It was one he had made himself...and inside, he had decided to keep what he hoped no one would ever see. So far...it had remained untouched except for the few times he had made adjustments to the contents. He smiled at it, as mixed as his feelings were. It was an off-again-on-again hobby he had. Every so often, when things started to pile in on him, he'd ask Gibbs for the use of his tools. Gibbs had always said yes. For some reason, there had never been a single suggestion that he buy his own tools, that he work somewhere else. Gibbs had never asked Tim why he wanted to do it, and Tim never had volunteered a reason. When he went over, Gibbs would work on his boat and the two of them would rarely speak at all...rarely even look at each other...but Tim would go home, successful or not, feeling better. That was why he kept it up, and more than likely, why Gibbs allowed him to.

In the past year, he had become the roving computer genius. That had been Jenny's idea. If Tim was someday going to be required follow through on the secret he carried, it would have to be established that he sometimes went away. Thus, he roved. He had done work at nearly every federal building in and around DC...with the exception of the CIA. He hadn't been there. He had told Jenny that he _wouldn't_ go there, and so far, either no one had asked for him or Jenny had put her foot down. He smiled again, wistfully, this time. It was a hard life he was living, but at least he was living it.

...but tonight...or rather this morning, he had a feeling that things were about to change. There was a sensation in his gut that told him the pressure that was building was about to give way. If he was right...

_I need my sleep._ With that thought, Tim stood up and returned to his bedroom. He lay down and went to sleep in seconds...back to the dreams of light.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Elsewhere, the two men who were meeting were alone. It was strange because, in this place, one was rarely alone. In fact, the meeting was strange all around from the location to the time to the participants.

"Why are _you _meeting with me, sir?" one of the men asked. "This isn't usual. Whatever happened to plausible deniability?"

"It's where it usually is," the other replied easily. "Why do you think I suggested we walk around outside as opposed to indoors? No one is nearby."

"And meeting at three in the morning?"

"It's one of the rare times I'm not on display. I'm sure there are a few hangers-on, but generally-speaking, people are in bed...as I would like to be...as my wife would like me to be."

"You chose the time."

"Oh, it wasn't a criticism...not of you, anyway. It's merely a commentary on my lot in life."

He smiled. "It's one you chose, sir."

"I'm well aware of that. Now, to business. I've been told that you need more help."

"Yes, sir. We'll get through eventually, but it might be too late by that time. None of us have the necessary expertise."

"Thus, the reason for this meeting. I have the man you need." He held out a file.

"Who is this?"

"Read it."

"An NCIS agent? Why would I need that?"

"_Read_ the file. The whole thing."

"Now, sir?"

"Well, I'm not letting you take the file with you...so now would be a good time."

"Why not?"

"Because...this is my own file. I gathered all the information myself. He's an interesting person."

"You found all this yourself?" The file was thick.

"I have excellent contacts."

"He's just one man, sir."

"Yes...one man...but the one you need. Read."

With a sigh, the first man read the file. He didn't get very far before he looked up again.

"You're kidding, right?"

"I don't kid. Not about this."

"No way. _No_ one could do what he's done."

"But he did."

"Are you sure?"

"I have testimony of it. Keep reading."

Silence descended as the first man continued his perusal.

"Is this _the_ Levi Carew?"

"One and the same."

"The director of the CIA."

"Yes."

"Wow." Silence again.

The second man took the opportunity to sit on a conveniently-located bench. It wasn't often he got to sit down with someone and _not_ be the center of attention. Five minutes passed. Then, ten.

"Why do you think he's what we need?"

"Have you seen what he's done?"

"I'm not sure I believe it."

"Believe it."

"You've seen this program?"

"No. He destroyed it both times. The second time, the coding was all encrypted so no one got a look at it before he destroyed it. The first time...well, the only people to see it the first time happen to be dead...partially because of him."

"He killed them?"

"No. Carew did, but he helped."

"Well, I can't say that I'm sorry about that. That group was a loose cannon."

"Yes."

"You don't want me to make him do that again, do you?"

"Do _you_ want him to?"

"As nice as that might be...I don't think we have the time. Having _legitimate_ access to the NSA will probably be enough."

"The NSA does not spy on US citizens. Its targets are exclusively international."

"Wow...you _are_ good at plausible deniability."

The second man only smiled.

"You're just going to hand him over to me? What makes you think he'll agree?"

"He's a patriot. For all that's been done to him by representatives of this country, he is still a patriot...and he knows about the possibility."

"He does?"

"Has for over a year. He hasn't forgotten it either...and I don't think he will."

"How do you know? Have you met him?"

"No. I haven't. I've just made a study of him."

"Why?"

"To remind me of the kinds of things that go on in this country without my knowledge...and what damage that can cause. His psyche profile is in there, as are his psychological evaluations."

"Evaluations?"

"He was committed for a brief period directly following his last interaction with the CIA."

"Committed? And this is the guy you want helping us?"

"Did you finish reading?"

"No. Not yet."

"Finish it. You need to know it all."

Silence descended once more and the second man dozed for a few minutes.

"I see what you mean. He's what we need...and we can have him?"

"Yes...if you're interested."

"Definitely...but I'm not sure how to proceed. Most people who get involved in these operations do so willingly, not under any form of duress. I don't like the idea."

"Would you take a suggestion?"

"_Is_ it a suggestion?"

"Of course. I'm in no position to give you orders."

The first man laughed out loud. "You're not? You're the _only_ one in a position to give me orders."

"I am, aren't I?"

"What's the suggestion?"

"Be honest."

"Honest?"

"Yes. This is a man whose life was nearly destroyed by manipulation, threats and lies. He deserves respect and the truth."

"I can't tell him everything."

"No. You can't...but you can be honest. You can be yourself, the witty and urbane man sitting in front of me..." He smiled at the cynical look on the first man's face. "...and you can tell him what you're doing and what you need him for. He won't trust you, not at first. You'll have to earn his trust, but if you work to deserve it, I don't think you could have a better man helping you."

"It sounds like you know him."

"I don't...although I think I'd like to. He's managed to make his life work, even with this hanging over his head and his continued surveillance."

"Surveillance?"

"He's been under protective surveillance, courtesy of the CIA."

"Carew, again?"

"Yes."

"I don't understand that man."

"Nor do I. I doubt anyone does. So...you want him?"

"Yes, sir."

"You've got him. Get your usual contacts to give the orders in the usual manner."

"You don't want to do it yourself, sir?" The first man stood up, grinning widely.

The second man grinned as well. "I am the President of the United States of America. I am not a messenger."

The first man looked out on the lawn in front of the White House. He yawned. "Will do. How soon can I have him?"

"Let's say...tomorrow. Tomorrow morning, if the warning goes out this morning."

"That'll give me time to get everything organized. Thank you, Mr. President."

"My pleasure," he said and then sobered. "Just get the job done. This isn't something we can put out a warning about. It needs to be stopped...quickly and quietly, with no fuss."

"As always, sir."

"Good. You'll see yourself out? I'd like to get some sleep."

"I'm already gone, sir. What if someone _did_ see us?"

"I can see the tabloids already," the president said, sighing. "'President meets with secret male lover!'"

The first man laughed again. "How exciting. To think all this time and I never knew," he said facetiously.

"Funny old world."

"Isn't it?" The man turned to go, but stopped. "Thank you, Mr. President. I'll admit I had my doubts. I didn't vote for you."

"I trust you aren't too disappointed?"

"You've worked out pretty well. I might even consider voting for you in the next election."

The president rolled his eyes and walked back into the White House. The first man took a moment to look around at his surroundings. He had probably been to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue more than any person who didn't actually work here. He still got a feeling of being in a special place. Silly perhaps for a man in his position, but it was the truth.

The truth. The truth was a chancy thing, hard to pin down, equally hard to define. However, the President had been right. Timothy McGee, after everything that had been done to him, deserved to be treated like an intelligent human being. He deserved the truth.

"I just hope you're ready for it," he said aloud, and then left for his personal exit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Tim awoke with a sigh. He'd had more dreams after returning to bed, and that always meant a long day. The dreams of the light didn't often wake him up anymore, but they still made him restless. He tried not to dwell on them. Today was going to be hard enough without thinking about his past. He began to get ready, sparing only a glance for his scars. They were so much a part of him now that he only vaguely remembered _not_ having them. He couldn't decide which set was worse: the reminders of his broken legs or the small round scars on his back from his torture. He supposed it didn't really matter. The real horror was that the events had occurred in the first place.

It was time to go. Tim took a brief glance at himself in his bathroom mirror.

"That's as good as you're going to get today," he said to himself. Some days, he felt back to normal...almost. Today was not one of those days. Today was a day that he remembered every terrible moment.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Jenny hung up the phone with a sigh. Today was the day. She had tried to put it off for as long as possible. Now, there was no other option, not with the authority behind that call. She picked up her phone once more.

"Cynthia, is Agent McGee in yet?"

"_Not yet, Director."_

"As soon as he gets in, tell him I need to speak with him."

"_Yes, ma'am."_

Alone in her office, Jenny sighed again. She wished this didn't have to happen. She wished she could stop it, but she couldn't, anymore than Tim could make the last two years disappear...anymore than he could change who he was and forget all his genius with computers. It wouldn't do any good to dwell on what couldn't be. Instead, she got back to her numerous tasks, allowing the daily grind to take precedence over the upcoming meeting.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Agent Jardine!" Tim said in surprise as he got off the elevator. There she was, her face covered by a face mask. Tim suppressed a smile. "You know, the flu outbreak has long since ended."

"You never know when there will be another flare-up, Agent McGee. I distinctly heard someone sniffing this morning," she said. "Have you seen Officer David?"

"Ziva? I just got in, Jardine. I don't know where she is...if she's not at her desk."

"Well, she was wanting some information on..." she stopped. "...on some things. If you see her, will you tell her I have them?"

"Sure. Watch out for those pesky germs."

"Will do, Agent McGee," she said, but he could tell she was smiling in acceptance of his teasing.

He smiled in response and continued to his desk. Sure enough, only Tony was around. Tim stifled a sigh. If he started acting down, there would be a concentrated attack. He appreciated it, but he didn't think he'd ever really enjoy being forced to cheer up. Sometimes, it was just better to be depressed.

No sooner had he seated himself than his phone rang.

"Agent McGee."

"_Agent McGee. Director Shephard would like to speak with you."_

"Now?"

"_Yes. It seemed fairly urgent."_

Now, Tim did sigh. "Thanks, Cynthia. I'll be right up."

"Another assignment for the roving agent?" Tony asked.

"Looks like it."

"You know, you should get Gibbs to tell her that you don't work for the FBI or Congress or Metro PD or...or...or the Pentagon or any other place you've been sent. You're an NCIS agent. You should be working here."

"Miss me that much, Tony?"

"Who else am I going to tease without fear of death or being fired?"

Tim grimaced. "Thanks, Tony. I'd better go see where I'm wanted this time." He stood up and headed toward the stairs.

"McGee!" Gibbs barked as he walked into the bullpen, coffee in hand.

"Yes, Boss?"

"The Director need you again?"

Tim nodded. Of all the people he'd had to keep his secret from over the last year, Gibbs was the worst, mainly because he felt as though Gibbs could see it in his eyes every time he stared at him.

"I'm going to talk to her."

"No, Boss. It's okay."

"No, it's _not_ okay, McGee. You are needed here...where you supposedly work."

Tim swallowed. It would be just his luck if he got fired for this coverup. "Well, I doubt anything will happen this time around."

"I'm still going to talk to her."

"Whatever you say, Boss."

Gibbs stared at him, giving Tim the distinct feeling that he knew there was more to it, but he didn't say anything more. With an inward sigh of relief, Tim continued up the stairs. When he got to the office, Cynthia smiled and gestured him inside. He returned the smile and opened the door.

"McGee, have a seat."

"It's happening, isn't it. You got another call."

Jenny nodded. "Yes. This morning. How did you know?"

"Call it a feeling."

"I'm sorry, McGee. There was nothing I could do."

"I know. I knew this was coming eventually anyway. There'd have to be something."

"Yes."

"So...what's my cover going to be?"

"You're going to be working with the Pentagon for the week. It's going to be top secret stuff, requiring quarantine."

"You really think this is only going to take a week?"

"I'm being optimistic."

Tim smiled and then sighed. "Okay, so...where am I going? What am I doing?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"No. Apparently, not even _I_ have high enough clearance. All I know is that this group you're going to work with has no public ties to any organization."

Tim's stomach started churning. "I've heard that before, Director."

"I know. I can't say why, but I think this is different."

"Different? How?"

"This is not an offshoot of any federal organization. So far as I can tell, it's a group that operates in complete independence, meaning it owes loyalty only to the country."

"I'm waiting to hear how this is a better situation."

Jenny stood and walked around her desk. She sat down beside Tim and put a comforting hand on his arm. "Because this time, Agent McGee, you are not going in on your own. I know about what you're doing."

"But you won't know where I'm going or who I'm with."

"No, I won't...but we aren't going to be blindsided like we were before. No induced aphasia, no torture. This is just you going to work."

"For people with no oversight."

"They have oversight, just not in a federal agency."

"Then, who does the overseeing?"

"I can't tell you that, not because I don't know, but because I can't. Just trust me, McGee. Trust me when I say that they are not loose cannons."

Tim ran a hand through his hair. "I don't see that I have much of a choice."

"No...that you don't."

"Okay. When am I going?"

"Tomorrow morning. Be ready with a single bag. They'll be there at six a.m. sharp."

"Why so early?"

"I guess they want to beat the morning traffic."

Tim laughed.

"Just a moment." Jenny stood up and walked to the door. "Cynthia, could you join us now, please?"

Tim looked up in confusion as Cynthia came into the office.

"What's going on?" he asked.

Cynthia smiled. "Come now, Agent McGee. Did you really think that the only reason I'm the Director's assistant is because I'm on time and can type over a hundred words per minute?"

Tim looked back and forth between the two women.

Cynthia laughed. "I guess you did. Well, let me disabuse you of that notion." She sat down, all business. "This is a special phone number which feeds to my phone. I just set up the line. Should you get into trouble, you dial this number and I will...not answer. It will go straight to voice mail."

"Why do I need to know this?"

"Here is a list of numeric sequences. All we know about your assignment is that it's top secret. We know nothing more. Rather than have you go in with no way of getting in touch, I've set up these codes for you to use in case of an emergency. Because the work you'll be doing is no doubt highly sensitive, we don't want to risk compromising whatever it is you do. So...there will be no verbal communication. All you do is punch in one of these sequences."

"How will you know which numbers I'm pushing?"

"They'll be saved. The numeric codes are random sequences _I_ made up. Therefore, unless you tell someone what they mean, to rest of the world, it will seem as though you're punching in numbers without thought."

Tim looked at the list. The codes were long enough to take time to punch in but short enough that he could memorize them quickly. Among the listed codes was one for being under attack, one for under duress, another for personal injury.

"What if I can't get to a phone?"

"Then, I hope you don't run into any of these situations," Cynthia said briskly. "We can't have you tracked. We're doing the best we can with a bad situation. Don't blame me for that."

"Oh, I'm not. It's just..."

"Not much," she finished.

"Exactly."

"Well, can't help that. Destroy that paper by the end of the day. I don't want it getting around, particularly since we have to assume you're still being watched here."

Tim didn't need that reminder. "Is that everything?"

"Yes. Good luck, Agent McGee," Cynthia said. "And I hope you don't need those numbers."

"Me, too." Tim stood up as Cynthia left, and would have gone himself.

"Wait, McGee."

"Yes, Director?"

"Remember that I fully expect you to return. Don't disappoint me."

Tim could hear the worry in her tone and he nodded in response to her unspoken fear. "I wouldn't dream of it, ma'am."

"Good. Now, get to work."

"Yes, ma'am." Tim left the office.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs was standing beside Tim's desk when he got back to the bullpen. Tim knew that Gibbs waiting for him to explain.

"I'm going to the Pentagon tomorrow. I should be there for about a week. It's a classified thing; so I won't be allowed to leave until the job is done."

"This is really ridiculous, McGee," Ziva said. She had finally arrived. "I do not understand why the Director is allowing this."

"Maybe she doesn't have any choice, Ziva. By the way, Jardine was looking for you. Have you spoken to her?"

"Yes. Thank you, but do not change the subject."

"Yeah, McGee," Tony said. "Why aren't _you_ bothered by this?"

"Because I don't see that I have any other option, Tony," Tim said. "Director Shephard is my ultimate boss. I can't tell her no."

"You did that before, actually," Tony said, grinning.

"I quit, Tony. That wasn't saying no. It was capitulating."

Gibbs decided the conversation wasn't going anywhere and smacked Tim upside the head. "Fine, you're at the Pentagon, but you'd better finish everything today. I don't want anything hanging just because you're the new Bill Gates."

Tim didn't bother to point out that Bill Gates was a mogul, not a roving tech guy. He was just relieved that Gibbs wasn't pursuing the matter. That was more important. Still, he felt a slight tension as he watched his boss ascend to Jenny's office. He didn't expect Gibbs to find out where he was really going, but he expected the confrontation with Jenny to put him in a bad mood. Tim sighed and began to type quickly, searching through some data he'd received on a recent case. Tony and Ziva were talking quietly...about him, no doubt, but that didn't matter either. He'd long since gotten over being upset over every conversation. It was strange how being tortured had a way of putting things in perspective.

"_Don't you want to be able to speak again, Agent McGee?"_

He had never appreciated the ability to communicate until he'd lost it.

"_You ruined my life! Don't you care?"_

He'd never appreciated calm until he'd been unable to find it.

_A sharp burst of light...digging into his brain..._

...and he'd never appreciated sanity and the safety of a normal life until he'd discovered the horrors that had lay in the life he now had.

It was the little things he wished for now, things as elusive as all those elements of living he'd lost in the last year. To his surprise, he felt a lump in his throat. He hadn't cried over his life in months. It was a surprise to know that the regret was still that strong. Tim swallowed and kept working.

As he had suspected, Gibbs came down, fuming, a few minutes later. He glared at Tim but didn't speak. Tim just focused more fully on his monitor.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Hey, Tim, I hear the Pentagon's getting the pleasure of your company this week," Abby said, popping up in front of Tim's desk. Gibbs had, more than likely to punish him, left Tim at headquarters when a call came in for a new case, a murder. He had said something along the lines of if Tim wasn't going to be there for the whole case, he didn't need to be there for the beginning.

"Yeah. Lucky me."

"Tim?"

Tim looked at Abby. She was lovely...in her own way. "What?"

"Something is going on. What is it?"

Tim knew he couldn't tell the whole truth; so he fell back on a half truth. He'd gotten good at those. "I'm paying the price for revealing my mad computing skills."

"Why, though? It doesn't make any sense. Surely, the other agencies have people who can deal with those things."

"I would think they do, but apparently I'm the hot commodity right now," Tim said.

"You hate it, don't you." Abby wasn't stupid...not that Tim had ever thought she was.

"Yeah, I do, but that's my life now."

"Something you hate?" she asked shrewdly.

"Not always."

"But sometimes?"

Tim stopped typing and his shoulders slumped a little. "Yeah...sometimes."

Abby leaned over and hugged him tightly. "You'll figure yourself out, Tim. You can be happy again."

"I'm happy right now," he said softly. "How could I not be?"

Abby chuckled. "Now, you're just trying to get on my good side."

"The only place to be."

"You should say no," Abby announced, pulling back abruptly.

"Say no?"

"To Director Shephard!"

Tim smiled. "Sometimes, Abby, you can't say no."

"But you _never_ say no! Maybe this is the time!"

"This isn't the time to say no, Abbs. If that time ever comes, I'll do it. Trust me."

The elevator dinged, revealing his team, and Tim looked up at Abby once more and mouthed "good-bye" to her, then, turned back to his work. As the day went on, Tim felt more and more the coming separation. He was going to disappear again, and they wouldn't even know...just like the first time. He'd disappeared over and over again without anyone having a clue. Director Shephard would know. Cynthia would know. No one else.

"What is wrong with you, McGee?" Ziva asked near the end of the day.

"What?" Tim had been staring blankly, not paying attention to anything being said.

"You seem...off."

"I'm not off. I'm just...distracted. There's nothing wrong except that I'm getting shuttled off somewhere else again."

"Well, we could storm the Pentagon and set you free, if you like," she suggested with a smile.

"Ooh, I'll get in on that, Probie!" Tony put in. "I've never been invited to the inner sanctum!"

Tim laughed and shook his head. "No, I think I can handle a week at someone else's mercy." He was being so careful not to lie if he didn't have to. Gibbs hadn't spoken to him at all. There hadn't been any need, but Tim really wished he could tell him where he was going.

"Just give us a call if you change your mind, McGee," Ziva said.

"We'll be there," Tony added.

"Thanks, guys. I'll keep that in mind."

"How about a drink to send you off?" Tony asked.

Tim almost said no, but then changed his mind. "Sure. Why not? Just one though. I have to get up early tomorrow."

"Okay, only one." The three of them grabbed their jackets and left together.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was nearly ten o'clock and Tim hesitated before knocking on the door. It wasn't especially late, but he knew Gibbs would not be impressed. Still... he raised his fist to knock, remembering with a grin how afraid he'd been to do this the first time.

The door opened. Tim's fist hung uselessly in the air.

"McGee...what are you doing here? Been standing out there long?"

"Not long. I just wanted to..." Tim trailed off and shrugged.

Gibbs smiled and stood aside, heading down to the basement without looking back. Tim followed him and saw the tools sitting out...and a pile of lumber.

"You knew I'd be coming?"

"I figured."

Tim didn't bother to ask how. He just shucked his jacket and pulled up a couple of pieces of lumber, not having anything in mind to make, just wanting the pleasant feeling of building something. An hour passed before any words were spoken.

"What's this really about, McGee?"

"Top secret, Boss. I can't tell you."

Neither of them looked at each other. Tim had decided to start working on a shelf. He didn't do this often enough to be expert, but he figured he could get started now and it would give him something to look forward to while he was gone.

"It's bothering you, though isn't it."

"Yes."

"Do you know what it is you'll be doing?"

"No."

"Are you lying?"

Tim turned around and looked at Gibbs. There had been a time when no one would have needed to ask that question. It would have been obvious. "No, Boss. I'm not lying."

Gibbs looked up from his sanding. "Okay."

"I wish I _could_ tell you, Boss. It's just that I can't."

"I understand."

Tim smiled. "I wish you did." Then, he turned back to the shelf.

Another hour passed. It was nearly midnight and Tim knew he needed to leave. He'd want to get plenty of sleep for tomorrow...but he didn't want to go. Another five minutes and Tim sighed.

"Thanks, Boss. I've got to go."

"See you, McGee."

"Yeah." Tim began to climb the stairs.

"McGee!"

"What?"

"Whatever it is that you're doing? If something goes wrong, if you find out that you can't or won't do it...don't try to get through it on your own this time. Call for help."

Tim smiled. "If I can, Boss...if I can, I will. Bye." Tim climbed the stairs and was gone...on his way to disappear again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

It was 5:55 a.m. Tim was sitting tiredly on a chair, waiting for the knock on the door. When his alarm had gone off, he'd wondered briefly what was going on that he was getting up so early. Now, he wished he was just getting up, not that he'd been up for an hour. His packed bag sat desolately at his feet...and he waited.

5:58 a.m.

Tim got up and walked around his apartment to double-check that he hadn't left anything on or running or in a messy pile. He double and triple-checked his box. Its contents were secure. He'd updated them when he got back from Gibbs' place. It hadn't taken long, but it had been important enough that he had stayed up for it.

6:00 a.m.

There was a knock at the door. Tim sighed heavily and walked over. The man he saw through the peephole looked innocuous enough, but so did a lot of people. He sighed again and opened the door.

"Agent Timothy McGee?"

"Yes."

"Good. Can I come inside? It's not a good idea to stand around in an unsecured location."

"Unsecured?" Tim asked. _I thought I was paranoid_.

"Yes. My life depends on paranoia. Don't knock it."

"Okay. You are?"

"The man coming to pick you up."

Tim was instantly suspicious. "Really? How do I know that? I wasn't told anything about you except that you were coming. I don't know who you are, who you work for, what you need me for...nothing. How can I verify that?"

The man smiled. "Well, I could give you the list of things I know about you, but considering what I read in your file, that probably wouldn't impress you all that much."

"No. Not really. I'm much too popular," Tim said, but he allowed the man to enter.

"Okay...well...let's see if I can prove myself. Your director got a call saying that you needed to be ready at six. She was told that she didn't have high enough clearance to know who I am. She was told that you'd be working for a group who only answers to one person...but I'll bet she couldn't tell you who that person is."

Tim sat down and looked at the man. "Can I at least know your name? You obviously know mine."

"It's not especially exciting."

"And Timothy McGee is?"

"What would you say if I told you my name was Tom?"

"I'd say you were lying."

"Okay...I would be. It's Lloyd."

"Is that a first or a last name?"

"First."

"Lloyd."

"Yes. If you would rather call me by my last name, I think we'd all be happier."

"Okay. What is it?"

"Lawrence."

"Lloyd Lawrence?"

"Blame my parents, not me."

Tim couldn't help smiling just a little.

"So...what do I call you?"

Tim sobered instantly. "You can call me either Tim or McGee. I don't care much which...but don't call me Timmy, not even as a joke. There is only one person who can get away with that. The only other person who used that name is now dead. I'd rather not be called Agent McGee, either."

"You kill the person who called you that?"

Tim winced. "No. That's what people call me when they know nothing about me, when I'm on the job, or when I've done something wrong...or when I don't want to let them corrupt my name by using it."

Lawrence was solemn. "Okay. Tim McGee it is. You ready to leave now?"

"Yeah."

"No cell phone."

"I figured. I didn't even pack it."

Lawrence smiled and pulled a scanner out of his own bag.

"What's that for?"

"Paranoia."

"Rule of thumb?"

"More. It's how we live our lives."

"Great."

"It won't hurt a bit." Lawrence ran it over Tim's body, front, back and sides. It didn't squawk at all. "Nothing on you."

"I could have told you that," Tim said and then reached out for his badge and gun. They were where they always were in the mornings and it was an automatic reaction to take them.

"You won't need those," Lawrence said.

Tim stiffened. "Are you going to try and keep me from taking them?" He didn't turn around.

There was a long pause. "No. Just leave them in your bag and you give me your word you won't carry them around with you when we get there."

"Okay." Tim shoved them both in his bag. "Where _are_ we going?"

"Can't tell you that. You aren't a permanent member of the team and this is our base of operations. You'll be blind from the moment we get on the plane."

"Blind?"

"Well, blind in the sense that you won't have any windows to look out...not in the sense that you yourself will literally be _blind_." Lawrence hesitated. "On second thought, I shouldn't have used that phrasing at all. All things considered, you probably can be excused for wondering."

Tim shrugged and reached for the doorknob. "By the way, I should tell you that I have people who watch me all the time."

"Taken care of. They were given the week off."

"You all seem to think this is only going to take a week. Is there a reason for that?"

"All in good time. We can't talk about it out here. Too dangerous. Shall we go?"

Tim nodded. "Sure. Why not?"

The ride to the airport was uneventful...and silent. Tim stared glumly out the window. He even dozed a couple of times. Lawrence looked at him with something that was almost sympathy. Tim hadn't volunteered for this, but he was doing it anyway. That wasn't the way this should be, but what was worse was how resigned he seemed. The President had been right. Tim was an intriguing figure, one worth getting to know.

When they arrived, Lawrence pulled the car to a stop at a private hangar. Tim got out, yawning a little. He chuckled a bit at the sight of the small private plane...with no windows.

"Wow. Tony would be so jealous. He keeps complaining that NCIS doesn't have their own private plane."

"Only the best for us...until we actually get to work...then, it's all crap," Lawrence said. He waved to a man doing a last check on the engine. "Hey!"

"This our fifth man?"

"There are more than five of us."

"Whatever."

"This is Tim McGee," Lawrence said. "Tim, meet Louis."

"Don't call me that."

"Is this a group of people who dislike their own names?" Tim asked, raising his eyebrows.

"No, only Lou and I."

"You call me Lou one more time..." He waved a wrench around threateningly.

"And Lou prefers to be called Thompson...not because it's his name but because he prefers it...and since he's the guy who always has the heavy tools, we tend to humor him."

Tim couldn't help laughing. As much as he'd dreaded this forced assignment, so far, it didn't seem too bad. Even so, he wasn't letting his guard down just yet.

"Nice to meet you, Thompson."

"Likewise."

"We ready to go?"

"Yep. Flight plan is filed; so we can take off and disappear into the wild blue yonder."

"Then, let's not waste anymore time. Tim, if you'd like to board now?"

"Sure, why not? Is there a bed?"

"No bed, but the seats do recline nicely. Actually, sleeping is a good idea. You're not going to see anything or learn anything until we get there anyway."

"All right." Tim climbed up the steps and into the plane. It was not fancy, but it was clean and, since he was the only passenger, spacious. He picked a seat and sat down, putting on his seatbelt without much thought. Lawrence and Thompson came in a minute later, hauling the door closed behind them.

"We should be in the air in no time at all, McGee," Thompson said. "Do I need to give you the spiel?"

Tim smiled and shook his head. "I know what to do...and I know how to use a seatbelt."

"Great! Have a nice flight!"

Lawrence nodded at him and Thompson gave him a thumbs-up sign. Then, the two of them disappeared into the cockpit. Tim settled back as he heard the engines come on. He knew that he wasn't allowed to see where they were going, as much as that rankled, but he wished that he'd been allowed to have one last look at Washington, DC...just in case, he never got the chance to see it again. With a sigh, he reached into his bag and pulled out his badge, fingering it gently. The plane began to taxi and Tim didn't bother trying to figure out which direction they were facing or where they were going to go. These guys, for all their humor, seemed to know exactly what they were doing. They knew all the tricks and they would be foolish if they trusted him immediately...just like he didn't trust them immediately.

Then, he felt the buildup of power as they got ready to take off. The plane surged forward and Tim was pressed against his seat back. As the plane lifted off, he put his badge away. He wasn't an NCIS agent right now. He was something else. What that was, he didn't know, but he knew what he wasn't.

"Bye, guys. I'll miss you," he whispered and then pushed the seat back as far as it would go and tried to catch up on his sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Where is Agent McGee?" Nikki asked.

"On special assignment at the Pentagon," Tony answered, not looking up. "What do you need, Jardine?"

"I was just coming to prove to him that I _can_ go without my mask when I need to," she said.

Tony looked up and, sure enough, Nikki was standing there, face open to the world. She grinned at him.

"That's all you wanted?"

She flushed in embarrassment. "Well...he was teasing me about it yesterday. So...yeah, I guess so."

"I can take your picture so he can preserve it for posterity if you'd like," Tony said, holding up a camera.

"No...no that's okay, Agent DiNozzo," Nikki said, backing away. "I'll just have to gear up to leave my mask at home again when he gets back." She hurried back up the stairs to Intel, leaving Tony behind to shake his head at some of the people who worked at NCIS.

"What did Jardine want?" Ziva asked as she and Gibbs entered the bullpen.

"To see McGee. I think she might be forming a little crush on our resident computer geek."

"Really?" Ziva asked, amused. "Are you sure it is not _you_ Jardine has a 'crush' on?"

"Me?" Tony asked. "I don't think so, Officer David."

"Did this place suddenly turn into a daytime talk show?" Gibbs asked, smacking Tony...and then Ziva on the head.

"No, Boss...but I think it might be pretty cool if–"

Another smack cut him off.

"I want you two to go over to McGee's place."

"Why? He's at the Pentagon."

"Just call it a hunch. I want you to verify that he's not there."

Ziva looked at Tony. "You wish us to go to McGee's apartment which is empty to make sure that it _is_ indeed empty? Why?"

"Something doesn't fit, David. Look around and then head over to the scene and double-check with the property owner to see if he's remembered anything."

"Okay, Gibbs. If you say so," Ziva said, quizzically. She threw a look at Tony and then picked up her bag. They left together both wondering what was going on.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Levi Carew hung up his phone and leaned back in his chair. The office was empty and he had a few minutes to think. It was funny how Timothy McGee's name came up when he least expected it. He'd given the agent barely a moment's thought since they had parted. He set up the surveillance and then left them to it. Every so often he'd examine the reports, but seeing as there was nothing going on, he hadn't worried. Now, after getting a phone call from the only person he answered to, i.e. the President, and after a report on Tim's disappearance, he found himself thinking about Tim and wondering what had come up that had required his abilities.

Curiosity well-piqued, he sat up and picked up the phone again.

"_Yes, sir?"_

"Tell..." Here, he had to pause. She had changed names again. What was it this time? "...Alexis Greene that I need to see her."

"_I believe she's out on assignment."_

"Well, then, you'd better call her back in, hadn't you?"

"_Yes...yes, sir. I'll see to it."_

"Thank you." Carew hung up again and pondered some more. He didn't have to be involved...in fact, he'd been fairly firmly told _not_ to be involved, but that didn't stop him from wondering. ...and he was in a position that allowed him the luxury of investigating things that made him think.

Besides, if someone else was using the man he had, in effect, created, he wanted to know who and why.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Why are we doing this, Tony? It does not make sense. Gibbs talked with the Director. She must have verified it. McGee is still being followed around by those CIA people. Why do we need to check?" Ziva asked as they drove to Tim's apartment. Tony was driving.

"Aren't you the least bit curious about why the Probie is suddenly the man everyone wants to use? ...especially considering everything that happened is supposed to have remained classified?"

"Things have a way of getting out, Tony. Scuttlebutt?"

"Even so...I don't like it, either...and McGee is just too resigned to it. I agree with Gibbs. There's something else going on."

"Perhaps there is, but we are not to know. McGee has not told us. Director Shephard has not told Gibbs. No one seems to know except them. If it is not what we expect, then, they are doing a very good job of hiding it."

"Yes...and that makes me worried. McGee hides things, but he doesn't like to hide them. If he's hiding something, it must be big because he hasn't said a word about it."

They reached Tim's building, parked and broke into his apartment.

"Man, the more we break in here, the more I think McGee should just give us all a key...save us the trouble."

Ziva chuckled. "You really think that anyone in their right mind would give _you_ free access to their home?"

"I'm very considerate."

Ziva snorted this time. "Yes, very considerate." She walked around the apartment. "It is very clean."

"That's the geek for you."

"He left his phone," Ziva said suddenly, holding it up.

"McGeek left his phone? Why would he do that?"

"Maybe they did not wish him to make outside calls while working at the Pentagon. McGee did say it was top secret."

"Still..." Tony turned to go into the bedroom, but stopped beside Tim's computer. "Hey, look at this, Ziva!"

"What?"

"McGee made another box!" He picked it up and removed it from its place on the shelf. "This is a lot better than that piece of crap he keeps on his desk. Why not show it off?"

Ziva held out her hand and took it, looking at it from all sides. "It _is_ very nice. Strange-looking but nice. I do not know. I would think he would rather have this one be seen than the other." She shrugged and replaced it. "I guess we can ask him when he gets back."

"Yeah, sure." Tony walked toward the kitchen. "Hey, look! A little shelf thingy! Looks like McGee made this one, too. Did _you_ know he was still building stuff?"

Ziva stopped in her movement toward the bedroom. "No. I did not. Gibbs must. I do not see any carpentry tools here. McGee must be working with Gibbs."

"Why didn't he tell us? This is pretty good," Tony said. "Why does he show us only the crappy box and not the good stuff?"

Ziva shrugged again and went into the bedroom. "Perhaps he wanted to have something private in his life, Tony. He does not have very much."

"Yeah," Tony agreed. For some reason, he suddenly remembered the time, years ago, when he and Kate had essentially invaded Tim's apartment, looking at his stuff, stealing his food (Kate had taken a Diet Coke from the fridge), making fun of his private life. Now, Tim didn't really _have_ a private life...and what little he did have...they were invading again. "You done, Ziva?"

"Yes. I do not think there is anything indicating that something bad has happened. It looks as though McGee has gone to the Pentagon as he said. We will just have to wait until he gets back." She walked out of the bedroom and saw Tony looking speculatively at the little hand-made shelf, holding Tim's salt and pepper and a few other spices. "Is something wrong?"

"No. Nothing's wrong. Let's go and see what the landlord has to say."

"I am driving this time. You are too slow."

Tony rolled his eyes but didn't protest, causing Ziva to look at him in surprise as she took the keys.

Tony was quiet the whole drive over.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Anything?" Jenny asked.

Cynthia laughed. _"Director, he has been gone for only a few hours. It's not likely that he'd be calling yet...but to answer your question, no. No one has called the line. However..."_

"What?"

"_Agent Gibbs is suspicious."_

"That was to be expected," Jenny said with a sigh. "We'll just have to hold him off. Pass him along to me when he starts getting anxious. I'll deal with it."

"_Yes, ma'am...better you than me."_

Jenny chuckled. "Yes. Better for you. Worse for me."

"_You _are_ the Director."_

"Good-bye, Cynthia."

"_Bye, ma'am."_

Jenny leaned back. She hated to admit it, but she was very worried. Tim shouldn't have to deal with all this, but when the President called, everyone had to answer. What she hadn't told Tim, and hoped she'd never _have_ to tell him, was how close it had come to her being required to hand him over to...someone else. Knowing what Tim could do, knowing what he already had done, the heads of every federal agency (except the CIA, interestingly enough) had tried to lay claim to him. They had wanted to have control over that ability, over Tim. He would have lost what little life he had then possessed, given over to "serve his country," in the power of someone else, of course. Jenny had called on every favor, had cashed nearly every chip she possessed to prevent that from happening. SecNav had only sided with her reluctantly. In the end, it had been the President who had swung things her way. She had managed to get an appointment with him and, sitting in the Oval Office, she had told him everything that had happened, everything that had been done by Tim and _to_ him. He hadn't answered her right away. In fact, he, personally, hadn't answered her at all. It was that blasted phone call that had set up things they way they now stood.

Tim was allowed..._allowed_...to keep his job, to live his life, but with the understanding that if he was needed, really needed, by any group who could make an adequate case for it, he would be _loaned_ to them for however long they wanted him. Jenny had managed to derail every request thus far, and the requests had petered out when they realized that she would be fighting them tooth and nail. The other requirement was the need for absolute secrecy. Because of what Tim could do, what he had done, no one would be allowed to know that he was on a very short list of experts who had, in Abby's words, such mad computer skills, a man who had secretly hacked every spy satellite, every federal agency...without being found out. The NSA, in particular, had been chagrined to discover that they had been hacked without their knowledge. It was too dangerous to let others know about Tim's status. One word in the wrong ears could result in Tim's death...or worse, in their eyes anyway, his capture.

She had known that it was only a matter of time before an undeniable request would come through. She just hadn't expected the President to be at the bottom of it. Jenny sighed again. She could only hope that Tim would get through this. She hated seeing the look in his eyes: loneliness.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Lawrence walked through the cabin on his way back from the bathroom and saw Tim, sacked out, snoring loudly. He picked up Tim's right wrist, changed the time on his watch and smiled when Tim didn't even shift. He knew Tim had been tired.

As he settled back into his seat in the cockpit, he checked his instruments, knowing that they were sure to be off course...intentionally.

"So...how is he?" Thompson asked.

"Out like a light."

"Good. That means we can start heading at least _slightly_ toward our destination. How much fuel do we have?"

"Enough." Lawrence paused. "So...what do you think of him?"

"I haven't seen enough to know."

"Right. Thompson, you know people after seeing them for two seconds and you got at least two minutes with Tim McGee."

Thompson shrugged. "He doesn't like being here. He doesn't like that he's doing this. I don't find that to be a very good recommendation, no matter what he can supposedly do. Why him?"

"I told you. It was a recommendation from the President."

"We don't have to do everything the President says."

"I know, but I agreed with him. He doesn't trust us now, but he's willing to give us a chance."

"Is that why you broke protocol and told him not only your real name, but mine as well?"

"He won't break my trust."

"Are you sure of that?"

"As sure I can be."

"Well...if even _you_ can overcome your well-developed sense of paranoia, I suppose I can as well."

"Just wait. You'll see. He's what we need." Lawrence looked down at the instruments. "We should start heading south about...now."

Obligingly, Thompson steered them south. Another hour and they'd touch down at the airport. Then, it was just another hour or two driving before reaching home, sweet home.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was one truck stop of many like it on this road. The car carried three men, two women. No one took any notice of them, and they didn't worry about being noticed either. They were secure in their anonymity. No one knew where they were going, why, or what would happen when they got there. All the better.

The women used the restrooms while the men purchased some snacks. One of the women complained about how fattening they were. The other smiled and ate a twinkie. One of the men decided to take a pit stop before taking his turn to drive. They still had a long way to go.

After ten minutes, they were all back in their car and heading on their merry way.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"_Tim McGee, we are on our final descent to the airport. Please bring your seatbacks and tray tables to their upright and locked positions."_

Tim pulled himself out of sleep, wondering for a moment why he was on a plane.

"Wha–?"

"_McGee, we're getting ready to land. Wake up!"_

Tim shook his head. "Where are we?"

"_Nearly there."_

Tim looked at his watch. "I slept for six hours?!"

"_I guess you needed it."_

Tim looked up at the speaker above his head. "You said we're almost there?"

"_Yeah. So...you should sit up straight."_

Tim yawned widely and shook his head again, clearing the sleep out of it. "Right," he said, pulling the seat upright and checking his seatbelt. "I haven't slept like that in...a long time."

There was no response from the speaker and Tim felt the plane begin to descend. He had always enjoyed takeoff and landing. He wished he could see where they were.

_No use wishing for what I can't have,_ he thought ruefully.

The plane touched down smoothly and began taxiing around. The runway didn't feel very long, but Tim figured that was more than likely because of the fact that the plane wasn't very big. It didn't need the big runway. He sighed to himself, all his misgivings welling up again. He wished his life wasn't like this.

The plane came to a gentle stop and Tim stood as Lawrence left the cockpit.

"Wait here, please," he said. "We just need to get a few things ready before you get off."

Tim furrowed his brow. "You really think I'll be able to figure out where I am if I get a look at my surroundings?"

"Not exactly, but it will restrict the options from millions of square miles to thousands."

Lawrence opened the door and Tim reluctantly sat back in his seat, mustering up an unhappy smile for Thompson as he walked by. Fresh air blew into the plane and Tim inhaled it, noting that it seemed thinner and drier than the air had been in DC.

When Lawrence reboarded, Tim couldn't resist testing his theory.

"I'm in the mountains?"

Lawrence was a pro. There was no reaction. Gibbs couldn't have been more stoic.

"Time to go!"

Tim sighed and grabbed his bag. When he got off the plane, he saw that they were in a hangar...with the doors closed. Thompson was loading a bunch of equipment into the back of a Hummer...with the windows all blacked out. Tim suppressed the desire to roll his eyes.

"Back seat, I take it?"

"Yes. You don't get carsick, do you?"

"No, but then, I've never been in a car with no windows."

"It will be a new experience for you, then. Come on, we're on a schedule."

Tim sighed and climbed in the back, unsurprised that there was a partition between the back seat and the front seat.

"If you can sleep again, the ride will be more enjoyable."

"I doubt I'll be able to, but I'll take that under advisement," Tim muttered.

"Whatever suits your fancy," Lawrence said, shrugging. He shut the door firmly behind Tim and then got in the front. Tim was relieved to note that, at least, the partition wasn't soundproof. He could hear them chatting. The car started up and jerked forward. Tim hurriedly put on his seatbelt. Thompson was a much better flier than driver.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

One of the women began arguing about the timetable. She wasn't happy with how long it was taking. Why did they have to drive? Why not fly? This was a silly idea anyway. There were better things they could be doing with their time. ...and on and on and on.

Eventually, they got sick of her and had to make the situation clear. They were _very_ clear and she shut up, not speaking again until they stopped at a McDonald's for lunch.

The mountains were beautiful at that time of year, still a bit of snow on the peaks, the lower areas green. Of course, summer came pretty late to the mountains and it took a while for the days and nights to warm up satisfactorily. Not that it mattered. None of them cared about the scenery.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Hang on, it's going to be real bumpy from here on out!"

The Hummer promptly started jostling Tim from side to side, up and down...and every other direction. The road had been dirt before, not well-maintained, but this was a whole new level of rough. The washboard was continuous. Tim could feel them going uphill...and then, downhill, around hairpin corners and he was beginning to be glad he couldn't see just what was going on. He'd probably be scared for his life.

Then, abruptly, the road was as smooth as it had been, initially. It seemed too quiet after all the noise before.

"Almost there, McGee!" Thompson called out.

"Great," Tim said softly. "Almost there." He didn't have a whole lot to look forward to once they reached their destination. Finally, the Hummer came to a stop and Tim did sigh with heartfelt relief. The door opened and Tim climbed out to find...

"...where am I? A missile silo?"

"Close," Lawrence said grinning. "No windows, regardless. No one gets windows once we're inside. This way, Tim."

"Great," Tim said again. He hefted his bag to his shoulder and followed them through nicely-lit hallways, past a few doors, all closed (and more than likely locked). It took a few minutes (and going down a few floors) to get to a large open room, filled with computers. Four people were there. Two were working at one terminal, apparently arguing over something. One was working alone and the other was...reading a book.

"Guys!" Lawrence said loudly.

The reaction was like nothing Tim had ever seen...except with Gibbs. It was not military discipline. There were no salutes, but with Lawrence's call, everyone came to immediate attention. The argument ended. The book was carefully closed, and the work at the terminal halted. They all looked at Lawrence...and at Tim. The scrutiny made him feel as though he were being weighed...and by the expressions, found wanting. It was rather annoying.

"This is Tim McGee. He's the computer genius we'll be using for the next few days."

"This is it?" One woman asked scornfully. "I was expecting someone a little more Herculean."

"He's not going to be _lifting_ the computers, Xandra," Lawrence said. "Tim, this is Xandra Thompson, our permanent computer expert."

"Thompson?" Tim asked, looking at...Thompson.

Lawrence laughed. "Lou...er, _Thompson_ decided that he liked Xandra's last name better than his own and told us that they did this in China. I did point out that neither of them are Chinese, but..." he shrugged, grinning at both Xandra and Thompson.

Tim didn't answer. He merely nodded at Xandra and shifted his eyes to the others in the room. He didn't show it, but he noticed that she appeared affronted by his lack of reaction and it gave him a faint sense of satisfaction.

"This is Amin. He's our resident guru," Lawrence said, pointing to the man who had been reading.

"Otherwise known as a strategist, psychoanalyst, all-around thinker," Amin said, rolling his eyes.

Lawrence just smiled and moved on to the two who had been arguing. "These two close friends are our Sams. Samantha and Samuel...both of them go by Sam. They always take the opposite side, no matter what the argument is about."

Tim nodded at them. They even looked something alike. The female Sam had a pixie cut and the male Sam had a spiky cut, reminiscent of Tony's. He was going to get into trouble with them, he was fairly sure. Regardless, he wasn't here to make friends. He was here to work.

"So...are you going to tell me why I'm here?"

"To save the world, Tim," Lawrence said, gesturing toward one computer. "To save the world."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The elevator doors dinged open on the balcony above the bullpen. The man who strode confidently toward Jenny's office drew the eyes of everyone below him. He paid them no heed, but continued on his way. As soon as he had disappeared from view, Ziva, Tony and Gibbs looked at each other.

"What's _he_ doing here?"

"If he wants McGee, he is a little late," Ziva pointed out.

"If he wants McGee, he's _dreaming_," Tony corrected.

"Gibbs?" Ziva turned to ask Gibbs what he thought, but Gibbs was already halfway up the stairs. She turned back to Tony. "This is not a good sign, is it."

"I don't think it is. Should we wait and see or go up?"

Ziva just looked at Tony scornfully and ran to the stairs, Tony only moments behind her.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Save the world?" Tim asked. "That's quite a tall order for...six people."

"This isn't all of us. We have other little groups operating around the country," Amin said, smiling. "...but Lawrence has delusions of grandeur."

"No," Lawrence disagreed, directing Tim to sit down. "Every person we save...we save their world. Every time we save someone, we have saved a world. This isn't about saving everyone, just the people we are able to save."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"What can I do for you, Director Carew?" Jenny asked.

"Before your Agent Gibbs breaks down your door, I'd like to know where Agent McGee is."

Jenny allowed herself the luxury of a cynical smile. "Why would that be? Agent McGee does not answer to you, nor to anyone at the CIA...and I'm sure you already know where he is. Don't you have people watching him?"

"They were called off for this week, as I'm sure you know," Carew said, settling back in the chair, a faint smile on his face as well. It was a game they were playing, and he was enjoying it.

"Oh, were they? Well, I suppose that makes sense."

"Does it? Where is he, Director Shephard?"

"At the Pentagon, doing some top secret work for them."

"Entailing what?"

Jenny leaned forward. "Entailing something top secret, meaning I don't know."

"Are you sure that's where he is?"

"Where else would he be, Director Carew?" Jenny asked, for the first and only time glad of the circumstances that had taken Tim away. "And why is it that you are so concerned? Agent McGee does not work for you. He works for me."

Carew didn't answer, but he sat back, scrutinizing every aspect of her expression, searching for a weak link.

"Is that everything?" Jenny asked.

"I hope you haven't allowed him to get in over his head, Director Shephard."

"I don't do that kind of thing. I believe driving Agent McGee into the ground is something _you_ excel at, Director Carew. I take care of my agents. I do not kill them on personal vendettas."

Carew's smile widened...so much so that Jenny could tell he was mentally saying _not anymore_ in his head. "You are holding to him being at the Pentagon, then?"

Jenny stood. "I can't think of any reason to say otherwise, Director Carew."

"Because you don't know or because you don't trust me?"

Jenny only smiled in response.

"Very well. It was nice chatting with you. Do take care of your agent. I'd hate to see him...in trouble."

"You've already seen him that way. You've put him in that position more than once."

Carew executed a half bow and walked to the door. He opened it and nearly ran over Gibbs and Ziva and Tony as they stood, berating Cynthia for keeping them out. When they saw him, Gibbs immediately faced him.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Having a chat with your director, obviously, Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs stepped closer, but Carew was supremely unruffled.

"By all means, get as close as you like, Agent Gibbs, but I assure you that I am not easily intimidated."

Gibbs backed down, without giving up an iota of his disgust.

"Why are you here?" he asked again.

"I'm merely checking up on our mutual...acquaintance."

"Acquaintance?" Tony asked, anger coloring his tone. "You were his captor!"

Carew shrugged. "Semantics, Agent DiNozzo. Mere semantics. If that is all, I do have an agency to run...people to assign, people to...watch." He somehow slipped by the trio and was gone before they had a chance to protest.

Jenny was standing in the doorway and she sighed audibly at the sight, knowing what it would mean...even if they didn't yet. Gibbs turned to her.

"Why was he here?"

"For the reason he told you, Jethro. He was asking about McGee."

"Why?"

"I guess it's because he wanted to know where McGee is."

"And where is that?" Tony asked.

"At the Pentagon, Tony...as you already know." Jenny looked at Cynthia. "Cynthia, I need the briefs for my meeting with SecNav."

"I have them right here, Director," Cynthia said.

"Good bring them in." She turned to go back into her office, but Gibbs stopped her. "Jethro, Carew doesn't have McGee. He knows as much about him as you do...that McGee is at the Pentagon and will be for the week. There's nothing else."

"Jen..."

But Jenny had had enough. "Agent Gibbs, this is getting tiresome. I have told you where McGee is and what my views are on his interagency assignments. There is nothing more to say. Cynthia!"

"Coming, ma'am!" Cynthia wove through the three and closed the door to Jenny's office behind her.

"There's something else going on," Tony said.

"You think, DiNozzo?" Gibbs snarled.

"Well, McGee is obviously not with the CIA," Ziva said, as they reluctantly returned to the bullpen.

"How do you know that? I'm beginning to think he's not really at the Pentagon," Tony said.

"Because McGee told me once that he'd would sooner die than go back to the CIA. When this...loaning began, I asked him what he would do if the CIA asked for his help. He told me that he wouldn't do it."

"I had the feeling he didn't have a choice in the matter," Tony said.

"Yes. I said as much."

"What did he say?"

"That he would die first."

Tony was silent for a moment. "That he would let them kill him or that he would kill himself?"

"He did not specify...but I had a feeling it was the latter."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Carew smiled to himself as he got into his car. His visit had done all that he had hoped it would do. Tim's team was now suspicious. In their usual fashion, he had no doubt they would move heaven and earth to find out the real story...and then, he'd find out as well.

"Where to, sir?"

"Headquarters. Has Alexis reported in yet?"

"I believe there was some trouble reaching her."

"Very well. Downgrade the orders. It is no longer urgent, just requested."

"Yes, sir."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"So...what world are we saving?" Tim asked, privately surprised at Lawrence's attitude.

"The most important one of all...our own."

"What do you mean?"

"He means that someone is going to blow up the US," Sam (female) said.

"Or at least a sizable chunk of it," Sam (male) amended. Tim decided to mentally christen them Sama and Samu to keep them straight in his head.

"What another 9/11?"

"No. Much..._much_ worse," Amin said. "That was just a building, just a complex. We're talking about a city."

"A whole city?" Tim asked in shock.

"Yes," Lawrence said, no joking in his tone. "Someone is going to blow up an entire city."

"How?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

They would reach their destination the next day, in spite of the spur-of-the-moment decision made to leave the interstate. They stopped at a Best Western conveniently located near the road. It had plenty of empty rooms. The town was small enough that there weren't many tourists there yet, but large enough that new people in town wouldn't be thought strange.

They went to Subway for dinner. The two women slept in separate rooms. The men shared.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Tim felt that brief sensation of the world telescoping into a long narrow tunnel before it all came back. This was a lot to take in all at once...and he was the one who was supposed to stop it. No pressure.

"Who is it? How? Where?"

Lawrence leaned over and pushed a few keys. "This is an email we intercepted a month ago. On the surface it's nothing much...except for its place of origin."

Tim looked at the header information. "The Middle East."

"Yes."

"Who?"

"Do you remember the GIA back in the '90s?"

Tim shook his head. "No. It doesn't sound familiar."

"It's called the Armed Islamic Group in English. They were active in Algeria and known for their extremely violent tactics of wiping out entire villages just to prove a point. In '95 they threatened to kill any person in Algeria who voted in the national election. The group was mostly broken up a couple of years ago, but there were splinter groups in other countries who thought they had the right idea. One of them operated in Saudi Arabia in the '90s, but through a joint black ops mission, they were more or less driven out of the country." He paused and grinned sardonically. "This was before there was a need for every mission to get international press. It's much easier to conduct business when we don't have to see it on the nightly news."

"...and they came here," Tim said, suddenly seeing where they were going.

"It seems that way. We didn't even know of their existence until last year when they suddenly became active again."

"Active how? I haven't heard of any major terrorist activity in the US in the last year."

"Not with terrorism...with communications. Little things like that email. It's a coded message and is using a cipher that was common in the group when it was based in Saudi Arabia."

"What does it say?"

"It's a 'go-ahead' message."

"Go ahead and–?"

Sama leaned over Tim's other side and pushed a few different keys, bringing up a supply roster.

"C-4?" Tim asked.

"Not exactly," Sama said. "This is being touted...in specialized circles as the next generation of C-4. It's easy to manipulate and about ten times more powerful than C-4. A shipment of it was stolen about a month ago."

"At the same time as this message was sent," Tim said. He was seeing where it was going, and he didn't like it.

"Exactly."

"There was nothing about it at all," Tim said, looking around at them. He felt a little silly when they all looked at him scornfully.

"This wasn't the kind of thing that should be bandied about the airwaves," Xandra said with a sneer.

"The explosives are experimental and were going to be tested...but not in a place the military wanted known," Samu said. "The whole shipment was stolen...and the soldiers guarding it, killed. Their families were told they had been killed in a raid." He made a disgusted noise. "It happens often enough that no one questioned it. Sometimes, I think we tell too many lies."

"Lies have to be told when the enemy hears what we say as easily as our allies," Sama retorted. "If the public hadn't been trained to think they had the right to know every detail, we could tell some things and not lie about the things we couldn't say."

Before Samu could argue, Lawrence interrupted. "Regardless, the shipment was stolen...and it was enough to destroy a small city...or a suburb of a large one." He pointed at Sama and then Samu. "Sam favors the latter, Sam the former."

"I can see benefits to both," Amin interjected. "Psychologically, saying that a suburb of New York City, say, has been leveled carries a whole lot more weight than a city like...Williston, North Dakota. But destroying an _entire_ city would also have a huge impact on the morale of the country. It's a tossup as to which direction they're going to go."

"What about DC?" Tim asked, thinking of how symbolically and physically devastating that would be.

"I don't think it's likely," Amin said. "Oh, I'll bet they'd like to, but these are people who have shown extreme patience. They want to carry out their mission without being discovered. They might be able to plant a couple of bombs in DC, but enough to take out the entire city? Not likely."

"That's where you come in," Thompson said.

"I'm supposed to figure out where they're going to hit?"

"If you can, but more than that, we need to know where they are right now. Something like this is going to take time," Lawrence said. "They're going to have to travel and transporting a bunch of explosives is not the kind of thing you do on a plane or in a minivan, particularly not with the satellites searching for you."

"How long do I have?"

Sama suddenly interrupted. "Lawrence, that's something we're not sure on anymore."

"What do you mean? It was set for next week."

"It was."

"What's changed?"

Samu pushed Tim's chair out of the way...with Tim still in it and began to type, bringing up another email and a cipher to crack the encryption. Tim watched how he did it, knowing that this would be important if he was going to track these people.

"This email was intercepted just this morning. Sam and I were arguing about it when you got here."

Sama nodded. "There's a secondary target that's just come up," she said. "It's taking precedence, but we don't know what it is, where it is, or why it's more important than blowing up a city."

"Set for?"

"No timetable thus far."

"Okay. We'll act like nothing's changed."

"Lawrence..." Xandra began.

"Until we know more about this, there's nothing else we can do. We'll treat this as if it's still coming next week. Amin, I want you to contact the secondary base and apprise them of the situation. Tell them to focus on finding out what this new change is. Tim, for today, you need to get caught up on what we're doing. This will be your terminal while you're here. Familiarize yourself with our systems and get up to speed. Tomorrow, we'll put you to work."

Tim nodded and pulled his chair back to the computer he'd been pushed away from before. As he started to plow through the data, he noticed that Sama and Samu had gone back to their former argument and Xandra and Thompson had vanished from the room. Apparently they worked in shifts. That much decided, Tim looked at the material and tried not to feel the twisting in his stomach that had been so prevalent during his last experience working for someone else.

_Here we go again,_ he thought.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Hey, Ziva! Take a look at this!" Tony said, pointing to the plasma.

"What?"

He turned up the volume on ZNN.

"_In other news, the families of five soldiers killed last month on a mission in Iraq are calling for an investigation into the deaths, claiming that there is more to it than an insurgent raid. There has been no comment yet from the military and Washington is likewise remaining silent."_

"Do you remember those five soldiers?" Tony asked.

"Yes. It was a surprise and the families have all pulled together most admirably."

"Looks like they're not so happy anymore."

"I doubt they were happy before."

A dual slap, drew their attention away from the television.

"I don't pay you two to stand around watching TV," Gibbs snapped. "What have you found out?"

"Er...about what, Boss? The case we're supposed to be working or McGee?"

Gibbs just stared at him.

"Right, both."

Ziva began, "No one at the Pentagon is talking, which is to be expected if he is really doing something top secret, but I cannot get any information from anyone there."

Tony updated on the case. "The landlord remembered some package being delivered that our victim never picked up from the office. Abby's got the bomb squad checking it out...just in case, and then she's going to work on it."

"No whispers from any of my contacts that McGee is anywhere but where Director Shephard said he was..." Gibbs continued to stare. "...but I am thinking that if he is _not_ at the Pentagon, then he must be somewhere in this country still...and I am going to check further."

"We're thinking drugs might have been what started it, but we'll know more once we can open the package," Tony finished.

Gibbs looked at them both. "Okay." Then, he sat down and didn't say anything else. Tony turned down the volume and went back to work...as did Ziva.

Gibbs looked up toward the balcony and saw Jenny up there, looking at Tim's desk. She noticed his gaze and walked back to her office.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim had been working for hours. It was gone midnight when Lawrence finally returned and led him to his quarters. In that time, Tim had managed to get comfortable with their operating systems, slog through all the relevant information for his task and had begun studying the relevant emails to see if he could pinpoint where they had been sent from. The origins were well-hidden and Tim wasn't surprised that Xandra hadn't been able to find them. He was beginning to wonder if _he _would be able to either.

_No, don't think like that. That's the way you fail,_ Tim said to himself and refocused.

"Okay, I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it for myself," Lawrence said from right behind him. "You really do get obsessed. It's late, Tim. Time for bed."

Tim looked away from the monitor for the first time since he'd sat down. Xandra and Thompson had slipped out at some point...and no one else was in the room.

"Bed?"

"Yeah. We don't kill ourselves to get our work done. If we don't sleep, we won't be able to be of any use. The secondary base goes on shift overnight. Someone is working 24/7, but not us."

Tim looked back at the monitor. He didn't want to leave, but he figured he'd better at least try to follow the rules. Besides, trying to argue that he wasn't tired sounded more like the words of a little kid than a supposed computer genius.

"Rooms aren't above ground?"

"Nope."

Tim sighed. "Figured as much." He stood and followed Lawrence out of the room.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

They spent the evening going over their plans. It was likely that getting to their destination would be more difficult than a simple long day's drive. ...and they were on a timetable. This was an important task...and they were getting irritated with one of the group. It was one thing to make critical suggestions. It was quite another merely to be critical. She fell in the latter category.

A silent conversation occurred in the course of the planning session. Another plan was being formulated...and only four were involved in it.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"It's not the Hilton," Lawrence said. "Heck, it's not even the Motel 6, but it's a bed. The mess is to your left. The bathroom to your right. See you in the morning." He turned to go.

"You believe in all this, don't you," Tim said to his back.

"Yes, I do."

"To what extent? What are you willing to sacrifice to do what you think needs to be done? Who?"

Lawrence turned back. "I will sacrifice everything I own...but the only person I'm willing to sacrifice is myself. I'm the only person I own. I have no right to sacrifice anyone else."

Tim kept his eyes fixed on Lawrence's face. "I've worked for people who had the same lofty goals as you, who believed what they were doing was in the best interests of the country...but for some reason, I never mattered to them. The result was all that mattered, and they would do anything, _anything_ to succeed."

"I'll do anything, but you are not a piece of property. I can't throw you away."

Tim felt his mouth stretch into a cynical grin. "That's rare. In my experience anyway." He turned toward the bed and tossed his bag onto it. "In the eyes of the people wielding power in this country, that's all I am. Property to fight over."

"Not everyone is like that. We're not like that."

"So you say."

Lawrence didn't make a comment. He just said, "Good night." and left.

"What's good about it?" Tim asked the now-empty room. There was no answer and he changed his clothes and got into bed, turning out the light.

The room was pitch black.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Lawrence was paying less attention to the monitor than he usually did. He had seen something in Tim's eyes that had drawn him up short. Perhaps it had just been exhaustion, but Tim hated his life, hated everything about it at this point. It was obvious. Lawrence had acknowledged Tim's reluctance, but he hadn't seen how intensely Tim felt like a slave...like _property_ until that moment. It was a sobering thought. Lawrence had always felt that what he and the others were doing was a good thing...and it still was. They had saved lives...lives that people didn't even know were in danger, and they had done it with a minimum of casualties. Now, he had seen what others had done...and, if he were honest, what he himself was doing to one of the people he was supposed to be protecting. No wonder Tim thought of himself as property. No one seemed to care enough to see him as anything else. He couldn't even console himself by saying that it was just this once. Tim was on the list of people who could be called up at a moment's notice...like he had been this time...and that's what he could expect for the rest of his life.

_No wonder he doesn't trust us. No wonder he hates his life._

Lawrence thought of little else through his shift, and he barely acknowledged Xandra when she came to relieve him four hours later. As he walked down the hallway to his room, he stopped outside Tim's door...and heard what sounded suspiciously like crying.

He hesitated but decided to knock.

"Hey, Tim...McGee? You all right?" he asked as he opened the door.

Tim seemed to be asleep, but he was crying and mumbling, "I'm sorry." over and over.

"McGee?" he asked again and opened the door wider. A beam of light from the hallway fell directly on Tim's face. The shift was shocking. So much so that Lawrence actually backed up a step.

Tim sat up, almost screaming, "No more light!" His eyes opened wide, not seeing anything but looking around wildly, tears glistening on his cheeks. He was panting and staring around. What he was expecting, Lawrence wasn't sure, but gradually, he really woke up.

"You all right, Tim?"

Tim blinked a few times in the light that had so frightened him. He stared at the bedding, taking deep breaths as he tried to calm down.

"Yes. I'm fine," he said.

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I'm fine," he repeated. He wouldn't look Lawrence in the eye.

"It's only four in the morning. You should get some more sleep."

"Yeah. Thanks."

There was no trust, no belief...nothing but automatic replies. Whatever he had seen in his dreams, he certainly didn't trust anyone here enough to tell them. Lawrence could see that there would be no confidences, no more words between them...so he quietly closed the door and continued on his way...but he wasn't the least bit tired himself.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Half an hour later, Tim was still wide awake. It had been a long time since dreams of light had woken him up screaming. He remembered even more vividly the dreams he'd been having before. The dreams of the people he'd helped kill. It must be his situation that was making the dreams worse.

"I'm not sleeping anymore tonight," he said aloud...and if he wasn't sleeping, he might as well be working. That decided, he stood up and threw on some clothes before leaving his room. He could just see what else he could find out. Their systems were set up differently than most he'd worked on and it would take time for him to get really into how everything worked. He had noticed earlier that there was a block on mapping his current location. It was annoying, but tolerable. He knew he could break the block in about a minute. Xandra might be good but she wasn't as good as he was.

He paused in the hallway. Which way was it to go to the main room? Beyond the mess, his memory said and Tim nodded to himself. The halls were quiet as he walked and he relaxed a little. These people _weren't_ like the others. ...so far... He was too cynical now about people's intentions to believe that there weren't some snakes hidden in the grass...at least as far as _he_ was concerned.

_...grass. No grass in here_, Tim thought to himself. It must be an old mine rather than a missile silo. It was too big, too sprawling for a missile silo. Obviously much renovated and stabilized, but it just had the _feeling_ of a mine. _Oh, really, Tim? And what, pray tell, does a mine _feel_ like?_

As he continued his meandering pace down the halls, Tim continued his thoughts, but those faded away when he saw the first of the security cameras.

_There's always someone watching._ That made him mad. He _hated_ being watched, and even here he couldn't get away from surveillance. It was frustrating, but he had no choice in the matter and continued his walk. Finally, the main room opened up ahead of him. Tim walked in, thinking that it was a long way from his room to here. _They should really invest in some Segways. _He actually smiled...but only briefly.

"What do you think you're doing?" a voice asked.

Tim turned and found a gun in his face...and Xandra holding the gun.

"Working."

"Not right now, you're not. You're not on shift and you're not supposed to be wandering around."

"I'm not wandering. I couldn't sleep and what business is it of yours anyway?" Tim asked. Xandra grated on his nerves.

"This is _my_ job, McGee. This will _continue_ to be my job long after you're gone. I don't trust you to remember that."

"What, you think I _want_ your job?"

"No."

"Oh, so you think I'm some sort of spy?" Tim asked, saturating his tone with sarcasm. "You've got to be kidding me."

Xandra, not dropping the gun at all, hit a button with one hand.

"Flippancy doesn't help your cause."

"My...my _cause_?" Tim felt himself on the edge of losing control. He got angry much too easily and had ever since last year. "You know _nothing_ about me. How dare you stand there and point a gun at me as if I'm some sort of double agent...as if I _wanted_ to be here."

"Xandra..." Lawrence said as he entered the room. "What are you doing?"

"He was snooping around," she said, still staring at Tim.

"I was not snooping. I came in here to work. That's why I'm here, isn't it?" Tim asked. He was reaching his breaking point.

"Why are you coming in here at 4:30 in the morning?"

"Xandra! Stop it!"

Tim laughed. If they had known him, they would have recognized that laugh for what it was: a warning sign. It was the kind of laugh that led in one of two directions, toward hysterical weeping or incandescent rage. But they didn't know him. That kind of information was not included in his file.

"No." Tim shook his head in disbelief. "No, I'd like to hear all the things that Xandra has to say about me. I'd like to know what she thinks I'm doing here. I'd like to know what she imagines I could _possibly_ want here. ...because I'm thinking that whatever it might be, it couldn't be further from the truth."

They didn't know him, but they caught the dangerous edge in his voice, the edge of madness and it did warn them.

"All you are is upset that I didn't fall at your feet. Now, you're taking it out on me by being a...by acting like a complete jerk...because you can. Well, let me tell you something, my dear, I dismissed you because you remind of the kind of people I hate. The kind of people who have taken control of my life over and over again and somehow missed the fact that I have no rights anymore. I'm a citizen of what is touted as the birthplace of freedom...or whatever...but I don't count in that number. I don't want to be here. I don't want to be doing this. I don't want to sit here and take this kind of crap from you...but guess what...I_ have_ to. Do you know why? Because three years ago I proved that I could hack into the CIA. From there, I was kidnapped and tortured and forced to...do things I didn't want to do under threat of my employers murdering everyone I cared about. After that, I had the joy to be taken again, attacked, torn apart from the inside out. ...and then...then, I was told that I had no choice but to leave myself available for that again...and again...and again...and again."

During Tim's rant, Xandra's gun had lowered. It was now pointing at the floor. Tim noticed and pointed to it.

"You think that gun is a threat? You think I'm intimidated? You think I care about whether or not you shoot me? If I had known how my life was going to turn out, I would have let my handler kill me two years ago. So...don't point that gun at me again...not unless you plan on using it because otherwise...it's just a waste of time. Now, I'd like to get some work done. Do you mind?" he asked, sarcasm so thick it was hard to understand him.

"I'll take over, Xandra," Lawrence said.

"It's not your shift," she said.

"I said I'll take over, Xandra."

"Right." Xandra walked away, leaving Tim and Lawrence standing alone in the room.

"Do you mind if I work, then?" Tim asked, some of the sarcasm gone.

"Not at all. I told you paranoia is a part of our lives, but I'm sorry about Xandra. She hated having to call in for help doing her job."

"Forgive me if I'm not sympathetic to her plight," Tim muttered and walked to his station. He began working, but he sensed Lawrence behind him and after about an hour, he began to feel bad about his blowup. Lawrence seemed calm enough, but Tim could tell he was being assessed by his temporary employer.

"You want to talk about it?"

The question startled him, coming as it did into the absolute silence of the room.

"Not particularly."

"Not to any of us here, you mean."

"Not to anyone. No one can do anything about it."

"Is there anyone in this world you _do_ trust?"

"My friends, my coworkers. My family."

"No one else?"

"No else has earned it."

"People have to earn your trust?"

"They do now. I used to believe that most people were honest and could be trusted. Now, even though I know that they are, the people I come in contact with all seem to be liars, criminals or...villains disguised as servants of the people...and everyone has ulterior motives." Tim pulled up the intercepted emails again and started to scan through them, looking at the header information.

"You see anything we missed?"

"Not yet. I think there's something more to be found in these emails, though...I agree with Sama that there's a secondary target."

"Sama?"

Tim flushed, even though he was facing away from Lawrence. "I won't be able to keep them straight in my head if I just think of them both as Sam."

Lawrence chuckled. "Sama being Samantha? So...what about the other Sam?"

"Samu."

"Sama and Samu? They sound like the names of a pair of killer whales."

Tim let out a short laugh which he quickly suppressed. He was letting himself be disarmed by Lawrence's easy manner...which reminded him a little of Tony. He couldn't let that happen. He wouldn't be taken in this time.

"Anything in there about where they're headed? If there's a secondary target, they must be on their way to it now."

"No." Tim turned around in the chair. "Do they not ever communicate via cell phones?"

"Not so far. These emails are few and far between. Communication over public airwaves is problematic with the mandate to listen to all conversations allowed in the Patriot Act. I don't think they communicate at all once an operation has begun."

Tim nodded. "It's a lot harder to track someone when you don't have a live signal. I'm really not sure I can do it."

"Everyone leaves traces, Tim. You're good at finding traces."

"With a program that doesn't exist."

"No. Not with that program. You've done it without it. You're not the only one working on this, but you are probably the best. I think you have the best chance."

Tim looked back at the email and leaned back in his chair. "If I can find out where they started from, that might give us an idea of where they're going." He paused. "Are you sure you've found all the messages in the emails?"

"You think there might be more?"

"Well, think about it: these people have to know where they're going. If this is a new target, there would have to be some way to tell them their destination. If they only communicate by email, they need to have _something_ more."

"You're right. You're absolutely right."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

They got up early that morning and continued on their way, heading north. Three miles north of their hotel, the car pulled over to the side of the road. A body was tossed out into the borrow pit...and the four remaining members resumed their trek.

They reached their destination in the afternoon and checked into a hotel...the Hampton...for a week. That was the limit. If it took longer than a week, they'd have to move on.

...but it wouldn't take that long.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

_Two days later..._

Tim was barely sleeping anymore. Every time he closed his eyes, dreams of what he'd done and what had been done to him drove him to consciousness again. Lawrence had tried to ask him about it, but Tim didn't trust him enough to tell him. Instead, he channeled all his energy into trying to discover the destination of the first email they had intercepted. He didn't talk to anyone...except to Amin who, besides Lawrence, seemed the most decent and least abrasive of all the people he had to interact with. But even Amin was held at arm's length. Tim didn't trust any of them.

He just worked, wanting to get this all over with as quickly as possible.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

They hiked through the hills in pairs, keeping in contact via walkie-talkies. There were miles and miles of hiking trails in this area and they had only narrowed down their search to a twenty-mile area. That was a lot of space to cover, especially with the widely varying elevations, the poorly-marked trails, and the fact that their target wasn't likely to be obvious.

None of them regretted the elimination of one of their crew. Those who were left weren't complaining about the job they had to do.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_...and in national news, a drug ring, affecting multiple branches of the military has left three dead and..."_

"Come on...say NCIS," Tony begged the television. "Say NCIS. You can do it. Just four little letters."

"They are not likely to start now. I do not believe they have _ever_ talked about NCIS on the news," Ziva commented with amusement.

"It could happen."

"It does not matter who gets the credit, you know."

"I know."

"Then, why are you watching?"

"I just want our media to be honest," Tony said, affecting an innocent expression.

"_...we have a breaking story from..."_ The newscaster hesitated as she looked at her notes. _"...from Wyoming of all places. The body of an unidentified woman has been discovered west of the city of Pinedale just off US-191. Police are saying that she was obviously murdered but are not giving any details at this time...but an anonymous witness claims that she had been shot in the head..."_

"Wow."

"So? People are killed that way all the time," Ziva commented. "It does not seem worthy of you saying 'wow.'"

"In Wyoming? Have you ever _been_ to Wyoming, Ziva?" Tony asked.

"No."

"It's boring. Pretty much no one lives there. Nothing happens there...except that Yellowstone is in the nice part."

"No one lives there?"

"You know what I mean."

"Why are you two always watching television when you're supposed to be working?" Gibbs asked, slapping them both on the back of the head as he walked by. "I suppose this means you've figured everything out?"

Ziva sighed. "Gibbs, even if you are right, I have found _nothing_ to indicate where else McGee could be. None of my contacts have heard anything and I am not sure there is anything to find. We might just be grasping at–"

"Straws," Tony said, not even giving her a chance to _try_ and get the idiom correct. "She's right, Boss. I'm worried about McGee, but I don't see any evidence that I should be...except for the devil incarnate showing up here."

"Exactly. He came here for a reason."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

There was a brief knock on the door and then, Alexis Greene, aka Tara Browning, aka Kristine Blumell, walked in and sat down in the chair across from Carew.

"So? What did you drag me out of my assignment for?"

"I did specify that it wasn't urgent."

Alexis rolled her eyes. "What is it?"

"Our friend Timothy McGee."

Interested in spite of herself, Alexis leaned forward. "What about him?"

"He's disappeared again. The story being told is that he's working at the Pentagon on some top secret computer stuff and is supposed to be there through the week. That's the story everyone is telling, but somehow, I don't think that's where he is."

"You want me to find out where?"

"First, I'd like you to confirm that he's not at the Pentagon. We'll work from there."

"Why do you care? Timothy McGee will never work for the CIA. He's said as much already."

"Curiosity killed the cat."

"So...why did this start out as an order and then get downgraded?"

"I got his team involved. They'll do at least as good a job as you will," Carew replied, smiling pleasantly at her.

"That's not going to work. If you want me to find out where Agent McGee is, I will, but you don't have to play the competitive edge card."

Carew just smiled.

Alexis rolled her eyes again and stood up. "Is that everything, Director?"

"Yes. That's it. You can finish out your assignment if you'd like."

"No, they don't particularly need me at the moment. I'll see what I can find out at the Pentagon." She turned to go.

"How's your mother?"

"She still hates your guts."

"Naturally. If that ever changes, I'll be worried."

"Then, she's fine."

"Glad to hear it."

Alexis walked out.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Cynthia sat typing at her computer, ostensibly not worried about anything except finishing the tasks Jenny had set for her, but in reality, she would look over at the phone line she had set up, wondering if it would ever ring, wondering if she should hope it did or hope it didn't. She'd been involved in secret ops like this before, never openly. She was a behind-the-scenes kind of participant. It was hard to be that way when she knew all the players involved. In fact, she had taken the job as the Director's Assistant because she had decided that she wanted to get _out_ of that kind of work. Knowing that her skills made her an invaluable assistant had helped her get her job and keep it.

She really hadn't ever thought she'd need those skills again.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Jenny sighed heavily. "How many times do I have to make this clear to you? DHS does _not_ dictate NCIS policy, nor does the military or the FBI or the CIA. The SecNav makes NCIS policy under the authority of the President of the United States. I made a decision based on my understanding of the case presented. I will _not_ reconsider your previous request." She looked at the tech and made the cutoff signal. Immediately, the head of the Department for Homeland Security disappeared from her screen and she sighed with relief. Somehow, Tim's latest assignment had made the rounds of the heads of the agencies and they were all angrily demanding his services...with the continued exception of the CIA.

She sighed again and decided she needed to take this up with her own boss.

This was getting ridiculous. They had all forgotten that Tim wasn't a piece of equipment.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Huna!"

The call, one of the first times the silence had been broken that day, brought the man's companion running. She knelt beside him on the dusty road. It had been dry in this area for weeks.

"'Ulqī nathra 'alā thālik!"

"Kānat sayāra huna. 'Akhīran."

"Hal hum?"

"Rubbamā. La 'a'rif."

"Turīdīn 'an taqtafī al-'athara?"

"N'am." She stood and began to walk along the track, following the course driven by an unknown car in the recent past.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Arabic translation (transliteration and translation by me):_

_Huna!_ – Here!  
'_Ulqī nathra 'alā thālik! _– Have a look at that!  
_Kānat sayāra huna. 'Akhīran. _– A car was here. Recently.  
_Hal hum? _– Is it them?  
_Rubbamā. La 'a'rif. _– Perhaps. I don't know.  
_Turīdīn 'an taqtafī al-'athara? _– Do you want to follow the tracks?  
_N'am. _– Yes.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

_One day later..._

Tim was buried so deep inside the emails that had been sent he barely surfaced at all. The others had learned not to try to talk to him...since he effectively tuned them out anyway. ...well, most of them had learned that...

"Hey, Tim..."

Tim was hunched over his terminal and had been for the last six hours. No breaks, no meals, not even a trip to the bathroom.

"Tim!" Amin tapped him on the shoulder and Tim jumped...almost out of his seat.

"What?" he asked, taking a couple of deep breaths.

"Don't you ever breathe?" Amin asked, smiling.

"Sure. I'd be dead otherwise," Tim said...and almost smiled. Then, he turned back to the computer.

"Okay...why don't you take a breath right now? It's after midnight, you know."

Tim turned toward Amin and then looked around the empty room. "Wow. So it is. What do you want?"

"You don't like us very much, do you."

Tim shrugged. "Doesn't matter whether I like you or not. It doesn't even matter how I feel. All that matters is that I do my job and then leave."

"Is that really how you live your life?"

Tim shrugged again and turned back to the computer. "...until I'm obsolete or I'm dead," he said softly to the monitor, but Amin heard him.

Amin focused on the other monitors, tracking movement outside the base, listening in on chatter all over the country. Over the next couple of hours, he noticed that Tim didn't look away from the computer at all. His whole focus was on getting his job done.

_I guess I should do the same,_ Amin thought to himself and tried to follow suit. Therefore, he was surprised when, half an hour later, he heard a voice...from the only other person in the room.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Amin turned around and saw Tim facing him, looking somehow more human than he had at any other moment. His eyes were filled with curiosity rather than suspicion.

"If I can ask you one in return."

He was rewarded for his answer by a slight smile.

"You're Muslim, right?"

"Yeah."

"I mean, practicing, not just..." he trailed off.

Amin smiled. "Yes, Tim. I am. I say my prayers five times every day...well, most of the time. Sometimes, I can't. It's hard to pray in the middle of a fire fight. I read the Qur'an, observe Ramadan. I've even gone on pilgrimage to Mecca."

Tim's eyes widened. "Wow. Really? That's..." There was interest and excitement just for a moment which then faded. Amin realized that he had just had a glimpse of the "real" Tim McGee, a person interested in what life had to offer, as opposed to the man who looked much too old and broken for his years. "Then...do you understand why they're doing this?" He gestured at the computers.

"Oh, I see. Only a Muslim would understand lunacy?"

Tim flushed. "No! No, that's not what I meant. I..."

Amin shook his head and laughed. "I know what you meant. I really think that the reason I was recruited initially was because I'm a Muslim...but they _kept_ me because I'm good at my job. I had delusions, at first, that I was going to single-handedly change the messed up thinking of all those fanatics out there and _make_ them see that their actions only _hurt _the cause of Islam, not help. That's not what I'm doing. Instead, it seems like I'm trying to make it so that terrorism isn't the first thing people in this country think of when they think of Muslims...because...unfortunately, right now, a lot of the terrorists out there _are_ Muslim, at least in name."

"Then, you don't get it, either?" Tim asked.

"No, I'm afraid not, Tim. I can point to the verses in the Qur'an that the terrorists use to justify their actions. I can tell you that the word _jihad_ comes from a root that simply means 'to endeavor' and that jihad is one part of Islam, a religious duty to convert...even by force, but..." and here Amin smiled at the totality of Tim's attention. _He must have been a joy to teach in school_, he thought. "...but I'm an American. I was born in America, grew up speaking English, singing 'The Star-Spangled Banner'. I didn't _really_ learn Arabic until I was in high school, much to my parents' dismay."

"What do they know about what you do?"

"No details, and it bothers them that I'm out of touch so often, but they do know that I'm fighting terrorism. There was a time when that would have made them uncomfortable. Oh, they're not terrorists by any means, but they had some sympathy for what the terrorists were trying to accomplish and looked for ways they could justify what they did...but that all changed with 9/11."

"Why?"

"That was the line in the sand for a lot of Muslims. Nearly 3,000 people were killed. Think of that. Have you ever considered how many innocent people died in how short a time? It gives me nightmares to this day to think about all that destruction. For my parents, that was the moment when the terrorists went too far. No cause could be worth that kind of attack. To them, those men were truly terrorists, seeking only to cause fear, not to fight for freedom. They were trying to hurt, not trying to cause change."

Tim nodded silently.

"As for your question, the only thing I can tell you is what they might be trying to do strategically. This secondary site could simply be a way to distract us, to keep us from paying attention to the real target...or it could be genuine. These people are focused, determined. Nothing is going to stop them...except us, hopefully."

"Hopefully," Tim echoed, softly.

"So...my turn."

"What?" Tim's expression immediately became guarded.

"Why do you live your life like this?"

There was a flash of anger. "You think I have a choice?"

"Perhaps not in being here, but you do have a choice in how you perceive it."

"I don't have a choice. I'm a slave."

"A slave? You think your life is that bad?" Amin let his sarcasm become audible, even though he agreed to a certain extent.

Tim didn't react to the sarcasm. "Not in a literal sense, no. In the sense that I'm here because I was forced to come here? Yes. I'm a slave. I'm here because, first, I followed orders given to me by my boss when he ordered me to hack into the CIA. Then, I obeyed orders to save my own life and the lives of my family and friends. Then, I obeyed orders for revenge. Now...they're not orders anymore. They're edicts coming down from on high. I don't have a choice about obeying them. I wouldn't be here if I didn't have to be."

"Are we that bad?"

"You don't seem to be...but that's no guarantee that the next time or the time after that or the time after that..." Tim stopped for a long moment, as if he was seeing his life stretching out in front of him, defined by the moments like these when he was called into service.

"So you think we're not so bad?"

"Like I said, you don't seem to be."

"This work is worthwhile, do you agree?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, then. What's really the problem?"

Tim only looked at him without answering.

"Hey, I allowed you to ask a few follow-up questions. The least you can do is allow me one."

Again, he was rewarded with a slight smile which quickly faded away again.

"If it's not the work itself that bothers you, and it doesn't seem to be, then, what is it? You seem like a pretty good guy, distance notwithstanding. You seem to be killing yourself trying to get away from here, from us, but even that doesn't seem like it can make you feel any better...because, as you say, there's always a next time. So...what is it?"

"It's not the work," Tim said and suddenly his face was alive with emotion, especially his eyes; they blazed with fear and repressed anger. "It's not even you guys. It's..." He looked as though he was going to finally explain but he stopped and he shut himself down. Amin watched with amazement as the emotion drained away and his eyes darkened. It was so fast that it was like he'd put on a mask...a mask he'd been wearing since he'd first arrived, Amin realized suddenly. Tim turned back to the computer, obviously thinking he'd gone too far.

"What are you so afraid of, Tim?" Amin asked. "Hey, I saw that. You let _some_ of it out. What?"

Tim sighed and slumped a little in his seat. Then, he turned back, the mask gone, replaced with the same resignation that colored his voice when he spoke.

"It was my eyes, wasn't it? Carew always said that my eyes gave me away."

"Carew? As in the director of the CIA, Carew?"

"Yeah."

"You know him?"

"Yeah."

"Not many people can say that, you know."

"I wish I couldn't. He's one of the ones responsible for my current situation. Any time I spend with him is too much time."

"So, it's him you're afraid of?"

Tim laughed derisively. "Carew? I despise him. I hate him and everything he's done to me. He doesn't frighten me."

"Then, who does? ...because you're afraid of something, Tim."

Tim looked back at the computer, at the time stamp which told him it was two in the morning.

"I didn't sleep for nearly three days when I was working for him, not because he forced me, because _I_ forced me. All I thought was that I could get rid of the people we were after and I could leave. I was going to kill them. I _wanted_ to kill them...and when Carew stopped me, I went crazy." He laughed softly and looked at Amin. "I'm not being melodramatic. I literally went crazy. They called it...an acute psychotic reaction. It was like...like my entire being was...out of control. I was furious and I was terrified and...and I _hurt_ the people I cared about. I screamed at them. I even hit one of them. It was like being Dr. Jekyll and suddenly being taken over by Mr. Hyde...and it took a _long_ time before I could react the way I used to. Even now, I get angry too easily. I have problems with anxiety."

Amin looked at him a bit skeptically.

Tim laughed again. "Even more than I used to. You're right. I've always been a bit tense. The difference is that I know how to hide it now...even when I feel it. But that's what I'm afraid of. I'm afraid that that's going to happen to me again. As bad as it is being at the mercy of other people, it's worse when I don't even have control over myself." Tim took a long deep breath. "That's what terrifies me. It's not you, not Lawrence, not Xandra, not even the work I do. It's me. I'm scared of myself, of what I can do and what I _have_ done...and what I might do again." Tim's words became more agitated, closer together. "Every time I get pulled into this world where there are no rules, nothing governing what is done except the morals of the people who live here...the part of me that still wants revenge, that has no control, no checks to what I want to do... It's closer to the surface than I want it to be." He stopped and took a calming breath. "I can't sleep because of the dreams I have. I focus on the work because then I don't have the chance to think about anything else. It's not devotion to an ideal, even if I believe in what you're doing. It's self-defense...to keep me sane."

Amin was quiet for a moment and then, he asked, "Please, don't tell me I'm the only one you've ever said this to."

"Okay, I won't," Tim answered and gave a weak smile.

Amin laughed incredulously. "Tim, this kind of thing you can't hide. You have to tell _someone_."

"I just did."

"Someone else and you know what I mean. Friends, family, someone has got to know. Why do you think we work in groups? Why do you think there's no rule saying that Thompson and Xandra can't be married? It's because keeping secrets can destroy a person if they have to keep the secret alone. You have to tell _someone_."

"I can't," Tim said, simply. "My involvement in all of this is so classified that only the director of my agency knows. My family doesn't have a clue what's happened to me over the last couple of years. They know _something_ has changed, but they don't know much. I can't tell my friends because they're not allowed to know that I'm still on call. I'm as cut off from them when I'm at work as I am when I'm here. The only reason I can tell you is because you already know."

They were both silent digesting what Tim had said. Then, Tim sighed.

"You can say it's a matter of perception. Maybe you're right, but honestly, I wake up every day and wonder if there's going to be a moment when I can feel normal again. I go through my day wondering if this is the day that's going to finally put me over the edge. These things I can do...I can't stop doing them because it's part of my life, but that also means that I'll never be free. There are days when I'm okay, but most of the time...I'm alone. _That's_ who I am now, Amin. You got into this willingly and you can't understand. I don't expect you to."

"So...for you, life sucks and then you die?"

"It's kind of going that way."

"You know, you're right, I can't understand the way your life is, but you don't have to define it by the times when you get called into service. That really is up to you. We're not those people who threatened to kill you. We're not even the CIA. You're afraid of what you might become, but let me tell you, Tim, if you hide that feeling and if you only see your life as something destroyed...you _will_ break again. You will unless you can find some way of living with it. After this operation is over, you'll probably never see any of us again, but it would be tragic if your life was ruined by an emotion you actually had the power to control. Life can still be good even if bad things happen."

Tim stared at him for a few seconds and Amin thought he might actually have believed him, but the mask took over again and Tim went back to work without replying. Amin sighed and went back to work himself, neither man breaking the silence until Sama came and relieved Amin, giving only a passing glance at Tim as she sat down to work.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

The tracks had led them to their target. Silently, avoiding the cameras they had found once they knew to look for them, they placed the initial charges, setting timers and poising themselves for the secondary assault. This would be fast, quick and without error. There was always a possibility that something could go wrong, and probably would, but in terms of their preparations, everything was ready.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim stared at the monitors in horror. He had thought there would be a hidden message about the location of the secondary target hidden somewhere in the emails sent. He had, the day before, pinpointed the original destination of the emails to Texas. That had helped him delve more deeply into the content. There was already a team there looking for indications of a base of operations.

Now, he had found what he had thought would be there...but it wasn't what he had expected to find. He stood up quickly and ran over to the alarm. Just as he reached out to pull it, there was a series of rumblings overhead, shaking the floor, the walls. Something was going on up however far it was to the surface.

_It's us. We're the target._

No further thought was required. Tim pulled the alarm and began to run toward where he thought Lawrence might be. A siren began to wail accompanied by flashing lights. Then, another, louder, rumble shook the hallways, pieces of the ceiling began to crash to the floor. Tim paused, uncertain of where to go. He knew only that there was the elevator he'd come down in initially. He didn't know where he was or how far down he was or...or where in the world he was. This might just go down as the worst possible situation.

He paused for too long. Another series of explosions sent the ceiling right over his head crashing down. Tim was knocked to the floor. For a moment, he tried valiantly to keep moving but the darkness rushed in and he was still.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Well, he's not at the Pentagon," Alexis reported.

"So, where is he?" Carew asked.

"I don't know. You didn't ask me to find out where he was, only where he wasn't...and he's not at the Pentagon."

"You're certain?"

Alexis rolled her eyes. "Yes, I'm certain. You think I'd tell you if I wasn't sure?"

Carew smiled. "You might."

"Well, do you _want_ me to see if I can track him down?"

Carew leaned back and considered. He'd been told very clearly that he was not to investigate where Timothy McGee had gone. If it was discovered that his agents were disobeying orders from the president...that would look bad, and besides, it wasn't as though he didn't have other assets to tap into. The NCIS team was looking, although they hadn't made much progress. Still...

"No," he decided. "No, we'll wait and see what happens."

"You're backing off?"

"No, I'm biding my time. Discretion is often the better part of valor and I don't want to tip my hand too early."

"If you say so...then, I can get back to my real job?"

"No. I want you available."

"What am I supposed to do in the meantime? Twiddle my thumbs?"

"Be creative, Alexis. I think you can manage that. Take a day off if you want. You haven't in nearly a year."

"Will that be all, Director?"

"Yes. That will be all."

Alexis stood and turned to go, but then, she stopped. "Why is this so important to you? What makes Agent McGee worth so much of your time?"

"I am responsible for his creation. That makes him worth my attention," Carew said and picked up his phone. "Please, get me the requisite files for the meeting this afternoon."

"_Yes, sir."_

Carew hung up and then stared at Alexis, as if daring her to try asking another question.

She didn't.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Tim! Come on, wake up!"

The words were glommed together and Tim had a hard time teasing them apart and figuring out what they meant. A couple of quick slaps across his face helped him open his eyes and he sucked in a few deep breaths as he remembered where he was and what had just happened.

"It's us!" he said as he focused on Lawrence. "We're the secondary site!"

"Yeah, Tim. We kind of figured that out already," Lawrence said grimly. "We have some work to do. You feel up to it?"

Tim took in his surroundings. The lights were dim, the sirens no longer wailing...and there wasn't much of a ceiling anymore. In fact, most of the light was coming from sparking wires rather than from the light fixtures. He tried to sit up and felt the room start to spin. He put a shaking hand to his head and, when he drew it away, saw that it was bloody.

"Slowly...but not _too_ slowly, okay?"

Another deep breath. "Right."

"Ready to stand?"

In answer, Tim began to heave himself to his feet. He wouldn't have made it if Lawrence hadn't helped him, but once he was upright, he didn't feel as though he'd fall.

"What do we need to do?"

"Destroy the computer room."

"Why?"

"Who knows what these people want...unless they said."

Tim shook his head and then regretted that motion as it made the hallway begin to spin again.

"You sounded the alarm?"

"Yeah...figured it out just little too late."

"You might have saved us."

"Where's everyone else?"

"Don't know. Procedures call for a scattering once the base is compromised. We meet at a prearranged spot...if anyone survives."

"You think they're out there?"

"It would be stupid to think that they're going to just wait. Either they're getting ready to drop some more bombs on us or else they're getting ready to invade."

The two of them reached the computer room and Lawrence ran to Tim's terminal. He began typing furiously and then pulled out a flash drive. "I'm downloading everything we have on the upcoming attack. Once we're done here, you need to get out and get away. That's the most important thing."

Tim was still not quite engaged and he merely nodded vaguely, staring around the room and the destruction that had already occurred. Lawrence finished his download, pulled out the flash drive and put it in Tim's hand. Tim stared at it blankly for a moment as if wondering how it got there.

"Tim! Come on. Focus!"

Another slow deep breath. "Right," he said again. "What do we need to do?"

"I'll start on one side. You start on the other. Wipe it out. There's a kill switch of sorts in every terminal that will release a virus into the hard drives. Everything should be erased. We don't want them to get at _anything_."

Tim nodded again and moved to Sama's terminal. He bent over, ignoring the dizziness and began to type. He had found the hidden program on his first day and knew just how to activate it. Actually, the virus reminded him of his own kill switch, the one he had used to destroy the program he'd created twice.

He and Lawrence worked in silence, one eared pricked for the sound of an invasion...or another explosion. They were on the last two terminals when the room shook again. They looked up and then at each other and redoubled their pace. A ceiling tile crashed to the floor right beside the two of them. Tim jumped but Lawrence barely flinched.

"You done?"

"Yeah," Tim said nodding and then put a hand to his head. He was still very dizzy.

"Good. Now, we need to get you out of here. There's an emergency exit shaft in your room. It will take you right up to the surface."

Tim barely noticed that Lawrence was propelling him forward, out of the computer room and into the damaged hallways.

"In my room?" Tim asked, stumbling over rubble.

"Yeah, didn't you ever open the closet?"

"No. Didn't want to bother," Tim said, looking around, still a little groggy.

Lawrence laughed. "It's right inside the closet. I'd wondered why you never asked about it. All right, Tim. Let's just keep moving."

They couldn't keep moving for long. The question of bombing vs. invasion was quickly answered by the bullets flying through the hallway. Lawrence pushed Tim behind a support pillar and hid behind another himself.

"Tim!" he shouted before returning fire.

"What?"

"You need to get out!"

Finally, Tim's brain clicked into high gear. "I can't leave you here alone."

"Yes, you can! You're a whole lot more valuable than I am."

"But–!" Tim protested weakly.

Suddenly, Lawrence shifted his gun from the hallway to Tim's head. "Either you get out alive or else I kill you where you stand! What you can do, if they know who you are...that's a lot more dangerous for the country than if they capture or kill me. I will not allow you to be captured alive. Do you got that?"

Tim stared at the gun and then at Lawrence. He wasn't bluffing. He would kill Tim if he thought they might get captured. ...but how could he just leave him behind? It was wrong. If he had learned anything from Gibbs, it was that you don't leave people behind.

"Which is it, Tim?" he shouted.

Tim looked at the gun for another moment. It was tempting just to let it be over now. If he was dead, it wouldn't matter what he could do. He wouldn't be on call. He wouldn't be keeping secrets. He wouldn't be...

Perhaps his thoughts showed in his eyes because Lawrence's expression softened.

"Get out of here, Tim," he urged.

Tim nodded slowly. "How do I get there?"

"There's a back way. Go through that door and then..." He paused to fire down the hallway again. "...and then through the back of the room. Turn right and run until you get to the fifth door on your right. That will be the room right across from yours. The exit shaft is just a ladder that leads to the surface. Go up and then start running. If you see anyone, shoot them. The team won't be in here now...not alive anyway."

"Can you use a knife?" Tim asked.

"Sure."

"Here!" Tim grabbed the knife he always carried and tossed it clumsily across the hall. He really should work on that. Lawrence actually laughed before picking it up and sliding it into his boot.

"Thanks! Now, go!"

With one last look behind him, Tim plunged through the doorway and began to run...as he did, he wished that he had snuck a phone in with him. He wouldn't mind calling in one of those codes Cynthia had given him.

The complex shook again with the force of another blast. Tim was knocked against the wall and, feeling dizzy anyway, he had to stop and wait for the shaking to ease. He wondered how well these tunnels were braced. It was a frightening thought to be buried alive. He started to run again. It seemed to take forever to get to the fifth door on the right. Finally, it loomed ahead. Carefully, he creaked it open. The room was empty. He eased himself into the room and crossed to the main door. Even more cautiously, he eased the door open. It seemed quiet on this end. Not wanting to trust that, Tim dashed across the hall into his own room. It seemed undisturbed...except for the fact that his bed was buried beneath a pile of rubble. After a moment of hesitation, Tim grabbed his bag, pulled out his gun, and slung the straps over his shoulders. Then, he opened the closet. Sure enough, there was a door. He rolled his eyes at himself. He hadn't wanted to put his clothes in the closet because that seemed to indicate a longer sojourn than he wanted.

He wanted to go back...but he also wanted nothing more than to get away from here...and unfortunately, Lawrence was right. He couldn't let himself be taken, couldn't risk the possibility that those people might try to use him.

With a deep breath, Tim squared his shoulders and pulled open the door. It was heavy, metal. He got onto the ladder and then pulled the door closed behind him, plunging the shaft into darkness. The ladder had seemed to stretch upward into infinity, although he knew they couldn't be _that_ deep inside the mountain...cave...mine...whatever. He started to climb, hindered slightly by the gun in his hand.

Ten minutes of climbing left him feeling winded and even more dizzy than he had been before. He stopped, looping his arm around one of the rungs, and wiped at the sweat trickling down his face.

_Obviously, I have not been active enough,_ he thought cynically to himself. _How was I to know that I'd be forced to climb a neverending ladder?_

He wiped his sweaty hand on his pants and resumed his climb...climbing...climbing. Would he never reach the top?

Panting, that question was answered twenty minutes later when his head hit something very solid. Tim was so surprised by the sudden stop that he almost lost his grip on the ladder. Rubbing his aching head, his limbs trembling and screaming in protest, he began to feel around for a catch or something to open the shaft. It would be just his luck if he couldn't get out. He supposed he'd just have to stick around until he passed out...which was feeling like it was something he'd be doing soon enough as it was.

"Come on," he whispered furiously at the ceiling. "Open up!" His fingers fumbled over the circular exit. There seemed to be nothing to let him out. "What kind of an emergency exit is this?" he shouted in frustration.

Finally, when he was almost ready to cry, he felt a lip which led to a small release lever. He pulled it and the exit opened up, letting in the glorious light. Tim was blinded by it, dim as it was in reality. He was just getting ready to get climb out when the door probably a hundred feet below him opened, letting in a shaft of artificial light. He could see the minute shape of a human silhouette.

There was a shout, echoing eerily from the bottom to the top, making it difficult to discern what was being said...but since it was being spoken in a language he didn't know anyway, it didn't really matter...and Lawrence had said that everyone would either be out or captured. He fired once down toward the silhouette, not really thinking he'd hit the person but trying to make them back away. Then, he frantically pulled himself out of the shaft, falling onto his hands and knees. He wanted to collapse on the ground and rest but now that they knew he was there, he couldn't.

Tim struggled to his feet and looked around. It was near sunset...and he was near the top of a...mountain? Cursing silently, he wished he knew where he was. Then, he heard another shout and started to run downhill, assuming that any civilization that might be nearby would not be higher on the hillside. He tripped over a bush and ended up on a rutted road. He looked wildly around, wondering where to go.

"Not on the road," he gasped to himself. The far side was a continual decline through trees and grass and bushes. The air was thin and cool. He hesitated for another moment before starting to run again. As soon as he started to descend, the sun disappeared behind the mountains and he was in shadow. He ran...and hit another road. He paused once more and looked around...

...and saw the entrance to an old mine. It had to be the complex where he'd been working. It had to be. He stared for a long moment and then, to his horror, he saw someone coming out...a few someones. They stopped at the sight of him on the road, staring back at them. Then, they lifted their guns.

Tim was frozen in place for a second that lasted an eternity as he took in the smoke wafting from the entrance, the grim looks on their faces, the weapons in their hands. Then, he brought up his own gun and fired it three times before turning and running again...down the hill, not on the road. If they had cars, there was no way he'd be able to keep ahead of them. He might not be able to anyway, but he had a better chance.

He ran...and ran...not looking back to see if they were behind him, not trying to find out if he was going to make it. He didn't want to know. If they were going to kill him, he'd rather just die suddenly. He wished he had a phone. He wished that he wasn't alone in this.

As he ran, intent on getting away, on not falling and hurting himself as he ran through the brush, he had a sudden flash of that horrible and wonderful moment when Gibbs, Tony and Ziva had burst through the door of the apartment two years ago, having saved him from his handler. It was an image he'd never forgotten...and one that he desperately wished he'd see again.

There was a popping sound behind him. They were still following. There was a stitch in his side, he ached all over, and his head felt like it was about to explode. Still, he couldn't stop. Lawrence was right. He couldn't be captured...and not just for the reason he had given.

_I won't be taken again,_ he thought to himself. He made sure to count his shots so that he could save one for himself if need be. He would do what was necessary...as a last resort.

_I'm not going to make it,_ he thought a few minutes later. He just couldn't keep up the pace he was currently running at and the ground was unstable and...

...a flash of bright blue caught his eyes, up ahead through the trees. People! He forced himself to run faster, trying to reach that one patch of blue amid the green and brown of the ravine through which he was running.

_Please, oh, please, let this help._

It was a tent. It was empty.

Tim felt his heart plummet at the realization that this wasn't going to help him.

He began to slow down. He couldn't get away.

...then, he heard voices. People speaking English, talking cheerfully to each other, unaware of the chase going on up the trail from them. Tim looked back over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of the people who had been chasing him. They melted back into the cover of the trees, seeming to go the opposite way. He didn't kid himself that he was now safe, but it was a reprieve...but he didn't want to put anyone else in danger.

...and he couldn't stop.

"Coming through!" he shouted breathlessly and took off running again on legs that felt too rubbery to keep moving. "Clear a path!"

He made it around a bend to find about ten hikers lining the trail, staring at him in something akin to shock. He didn't bother to stop, although he heard them calling to him.

"Wait!"

"Stop!"

"Are you all right?"

Tim didn't answer. He just kept running, thinking that it was too bad he didn't dare ask for help. They might be trying to circle around and get him from above. He couldn't wait. He couldn't stop.

_Keep running,_ he told himself. _Just keep going._

Then, he took a step...and there was nothing there, only air. Too tired to regain his balance, he felt himself start to fall. He seemed to fall for forever and it was too dark now for him to see. In fact, he couldn't see anything. He seemed to have gone blind. Then, he hit the ground and everything faded to blissful oblivion.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Dark. It was dark. No light seeped through his closed lids. His left leg was wet...and cold. As a matter of fact, he was generally cold. He cracked his eyelids and saw...nothing. It was dark. After a moment, he noticed water. That explained his leg. He was afraid to move, afraid that he'd find out he'd seriously injured himself in his fall.

Come to think of it, he was surprised that he was still outdoors...and alive. Why hadn't they found him? That didn't make any sense. Just how well was he hidden? Since he was lying on his stomach, he couldn't know that unless he moved.

_Injuries aren't going to go away just because I want them to,_ he thought to himself and then gingerly rolled over onto his back. Every muscle ached. Muscles he didn't even know he _had_ ached. His head pounded in time with the entire percussion section that seemed to have taken up residence in his brain. However, the good thing was that nothing seemed to be really damaged...relatively speaking. His bag was still on his back and he felt the weight as he tried to sit up. As his eyes adjusted to the total darkness, he realized that he could see all the way up to the sky. The stars twinkled overhead in the small patch of sky not blocked by the mountains on either side of him.

Stars. Which stars? Tim tried to focus on that as he lay on his back. Which stars was he seeing? The sky was incredibly dark, much darker, in fact, than he'd seen in a long time. It was actually quite beautiful. He craned his neck and found the Big Dipper. It was dark enough that he could see all of Ursa Major, not just the asterism. Leading off from the cup, his eyes traced a line toward Polaris. There it was, the North Star. He'd already figured that he was in the west somewhere, just based on the air, perhaps in the Rockies or the Sierra Nevadas. Either way, he was in the mountains. How high up was a different story, but he could figure out his latitude fairly easily. ...of course, that would require that he sit up.

Carefully, he pressed his hands into the ground and tried to ease himself into a sitting position. The aching intensified, but he persisted. Finally, he was oriented northward. He located the North Star once more and then with trembling hands, he counted his fists from the horizon to Polaris. Four and a half, give or take.

_Okay, that means I'm...where?_ With effort, Tim tried to think of a map of North America. He was assuming he was still _in_ North America, of course, but it seemed much more likely than anywhere else, considering what he was doing. If he was at about 45 degrees north, that would put him in the United States. Facts and figures from U.S. history rose up in his mind, the Treaty of Paris, the Jay Treaty, and Tim rolled his eyes at himself for thinking about such things. At least, he could figure that he was somewhere in the United States and was in the west part...somewhere. It didn't narrow things down a whole lot, but it did give him something.

More importantly, he now had something else to think about. He had to get back to DC. That was his first priority. Well, actually, his first priority was to get away. DC was merely a part of that first priority.

Tim began to look around, trying to see through the darkness to determine his whereabouts. The small creek was obviously a temporary one, only containing water during the spring runoff. The channel it had cut through the narrow valley was fairly deep, but not impossibly so. He could get out if need be, but at the moment, staying under cover was probably the best bet. Stifling a groan, he turned himself onto his hands and knees and managed to get to his feet. His head just reached the top of the channel. Carefully, he began to walk downstream, thinking of everything he'd need to do in order to get back to DC.

Then, he heard a sound and he froze in place, afraid that he'd been found...

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The phone rang once and went to voice mail as it was supposed to. There was no request to leave a message, only a single beep. It was four in the morning and no one was there.

A series of tones translated into numbers: 5, 3, 6, 0, 3... 2, 9, 3, 2, 2.

The tones were slow and beneath the tones was heavy breathing and a pained voice whispering, "Come on. Think. You know this. Oh, no..."

Then, there was nothing.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

ZNN was making a report on a breaking story but no one was paying attention. Nikki Jardine had come and nervously beckoned to Ziva and Tony to come a little closer.

"_...Still no word on the exact nature of the incident. It is being called a mine collapse; however, the area has been blocked off and..."_

"...and according to my sources, Agent McGee is _not_ at the Pentagon," she finished.

Tony looked at Ziva in concern.

"How do they know?"

"I'm not exactly sure," Nikki admitted. "I don't know these guys very well, but when they come through, they come through."

"_...and there are reports of bodies being recovered, but so far these reports remain unconfirmed. This is..."_

"Do they have any idea where he _is_?" Ziva asked.

"No. Apparently, he was _never_ there."

"Never? As in, we've been duped? Again?"Tony asked.

"Uh...well..." Nikki hesitated. "It...uh...it looks like that, Agent DiNozzo."

"_...although the mine was commercially owned and operated, it appears that there is some sort of governmental involvement which is still unclear. All attempts to reach the site have thus far been prevented, giving rise to rumors of nuclear waste dumps or even a heretofore hidden missile silo. Details are still sketchy and..."_

"Great. ...and it's not the CIA," Tony said, glumly.

"How do you know?" Ziva asked. "They have been involved before."

"Because Carew came here," Gibbs said, walking in, and of course, knowing the topic of conversation. "He wouldn't have done if he knew what was going on. Thank you, Agent Jardine." He gave her a look that said she should leave. Nikki nodded and smiled.

"I hope you find him," she said and then left.

"Agent Gibbs," Jenny said, from the landing above him. "My office. Now. Agent DiNozzo, Officer David, you, too." Not waiting to verify compliance with her order, she mounted the steps, back ramrod straight.

Gibbs just shrugged and followed her with Tony and Ziva trailing behind. They were assuming that this was going to be a lecture regarding their snooping around to find out where Tim was.

Jenny was sitting at the table in front of her desk, Cynthia beside her. She didn't say a word until they were all seated.

"What's going on, Director?" Gibbs asked. "You finally going to come clean about where McGee is?"

A smile flitted across Jenny's face at Gibbs' words.

"Well, in a matter of speaking. I actually don't _know_ where McGee is at the moment."

"In a matter of speaking?" Ziva asked. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that up until yesterday, I didn't know where McGee was. I now know where he _was_, but I don't know where he _is._"

Tony's brow furrowed. "So...where _was_ he? And why are you telling us?"

"Agent McGee has been working with an undercover group for the last week," Jenny began.

"The CIA? Again?" Tony burst out.

"No, Agent DiNozzo. The CIA was not involved, has _not_ been involved. McGee wouldn't allow it. He refused to have anything to do with them."

"Wait. What do you mean?" Tony asked.

"Are you going to be straight with us or not, Jen?" Gibbs asked, his voice hard.

Jenny didn't appear ruffled, only concerned. "You all thought that McGee's work with the various agencies in the DC area was simply because he was good. In fact, it was a cover."

"For what?"

"For him to be called upon by anyone who wanted to use him."

"Use him? What is he a some kind of human utensil?" Tony asked.

Now, Jenny's voice became bitter. "Unfortunately, yes, Tony. That's almost exactly how people are seeing him. After all that happened last year, various and sundry important people began trying to lay claim to him. It was only by calling in every favor I had that I was able to allow McGee a measure of freedom...but not even I could stop it all. I had to agree that, with proof of need, McGee could be...appropriated by others in the service of his country. He has no choice and it has been, until now, a secret agreement, along with his CIA surveillance that has continued unabated to this day. He was not allowed to tell anyone about it. His visits to other agencies was a way of covering any possible absences. It worked."

"So...McGee isn't at the Pentagon. Where is he?" Tony asked.

"I don't know."

"Where _was_ he, then?" Gibbs asked, sounding annoyed.

"He _was_ in Montana, just outside Missoula," Jenny said. "Have you been watching ZNN?"

"The mine collapse?" Ziva asked. "That was McGee?"

"It wasn't a mine collapse," Cynthia said, speaking for the first time. "There was an attack on the facility in which he was working."

"His body has not been found there," Jenny said, "but he has disappeared. No one knows where he is. Our only evidence that he's alive is this message."

Cynthia brought out a digital recorder and pushed play. They heard the numbers and Tim's whispered voice, obviously in pain, obviously frightened.

"The numbers are two codes for 'under attack' and 'compromised,'" Cynthia explained. "He wasn't supposed to leave any voice recording but the voice mail picks up audio."

"Okay, so why are you telling us now?" Tony asked. "You've been keeping us in the dark for a year! What happened to all the secrecy?"

"I have been..._requested_," Jenny said, the distaste in her voice obvious, "to provide a team to find McGee and bring him back unharmed. I thought that you might prefer that to me sending Lovitz."

"And what happens after that?" Gibbs asked. "What happens to McGee when we bring him back?"

"I don't have to tell you that there will be problems, Gibbs. McGee's abilities are considered a precious commodity. All they care about is preserving that. They don't care about him."

"Well, then you can tell the powers that be that McGee already belongs to Gibbs!" Tony said, joking but only as a defense. "He should have 'Property of Agent Gibbs' tattooed on his rear. They can't take him!"

Jenny smiled sadly. "As true as that may be, Tony, if they believe that McGee is in danger, they'll probably appeal to the President...as I did to keep McGee here. ...and this time, he might listen to them instead of to me."

"Do you _want_ us to find him?" Gibbs asked.

"Yes, I do. If he's in danger, I'd like to get him back. I don't want to have to face another breakdown, another period of insanity, or even another bout of serious injury."

Gibbs looked at Tony and Ziva. "Be ready in ten minutes." They stood to go, in uncharacteristic silence, and Gibbs glared at Cynthia who coolly returned his stare.

"Thank you, Cynthia," Jenny said in dismissal.

Neither of them spoke until the door closed.

"A whole year, Jen?" Gibbs asked.

"Yes," Jenny replied with no apology.

"And you think that it's okay to keep me in the dark?"

"No, I don't. I think it's monstrous what the people who are running this country have decided is allowable...but unlike you, Jethro, I have to answer to them. If I didn't allow _something_, McGee would have simply disappeared and you would never have seen him again, nor would his family. They would have used him until he was dead...because that's what they want to do. This has nothing to do with you, Jethro, and everything to do with McGee. You couldn't have prevented it. No one could. I was lucky enough to be able to get the President on my side, but even then...still, I couldn't do enough."

"You could have told us."

"McGee could have told you if he thought it would help. I wouldn't have been able to stop him...and he's known."

"For how long?"

"As long as I have. McGee has known and has chosen to maintain the secrecy dictated by his superiors. I have known and done the same."

Gibbs was silent for a few seconds, wanting to do something to get rid of the reality he now understood. Tim had been right a week ago when he had said Gibbs didn't understand. Now, he did.

"Who's pulling the strings?"

"I don't know. It's not the CIA, if that's what's worrying you. I don't know why Carew is involved at all, but it's not because he's in control. This could go a long way up the ladder, but I don't know exactly how high. Right now, Jethro, all I care about is making sure that McGee is okay...as okay as he can be. He's been miserable for the last year, and I don't want to make things worse. So...find him. Bring him back and maybe we can do something to make his life a little better."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Lawrence looked back over his shoulder. It was times like these that his well-developed sense of paranoia kicked into high gear. He wouldn't trust anyone at this point, not until he reached the rendezvous and saw how many had survived. It was never a sure thing, but he always hoped that they'd all show up...every single idiosyncratic one of them. Together they made up a good team and he hated the idea of having to break in another one. The sun had long since gone down and he was in the outskirts of Butte, Montana. It wasn't really big enough to have outskirts, but there was an airport. He had to get down into Idaho. He gave a passing thought to Tim, hoping that he had made it out. He had survived that long, two years; Lawrence was sure that he _could_ have survived, but whether or not he really wanted to was a different matter.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_We are now beginning our descent into Missoula. Please remain seated with your seatbelts fastened."_

"Who's paying for this private plane, Boss?" Tony asked. "Can we get them to just give us one?"

Gibbs didn't bother to answer. Missoula. Tim had been in Missoula. Montana. Why hadn't he pressed Tim when he'd had the chance? Tim had admitted that he didn't like what was going on, but it he hadn't bothered to try and force the answer out of him. Why not? Was it just that he didn't want to deal with the implications that there might still be something wrong? And he had known there was something wrong. Tim had never really acted like himself even when everything had supposedly been over.

"Boss?"

"What, Tony?"

"What was McGee doing out here, you think? Why here?"

"We can ask him."

"Gibbs...what if he is no longer here?" Ziva asked, her question hesitant. "It took us a week to discover that he was not at the Pentagon."

"We'll find him," Gibbs said firmly.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The communications which had been nonexistent up to the day before were now fast and furious. Each one was on a cell phone, reporting and requesting instructions. This had not gone as smoothly as they had anticipated, even taking into account that they had successfully destroyed the base. There was that one who had been different from the others. He had been a surprise. Their intel had not indicated the presence of one like him. He was an enigma and his presence could have serious implications for their main target. Thus, protocol had to be suspended in an effort to figure out who he was and why he had been there.

"N'am. Rajul wāhid. La. Laisa al-ahad minhum."

The single remaining woman met the gaze of the man speaking. She raised an eyebrow.

"'Afham." He disconnected and nodded. "Yurīdūn 'an ya'rifūn man huwa."

"Ma 'an mashrū'nā?"

"Sayabda'ūn 'an yu'iddūn."

"Limatha?"

"La 'a'rif."

The woman sighed and nodded. Together, they found the other two and the four of them went out to the site again. They hid themselves and took up a watch on the people searching the old mine.

It was a surprise when some people who didn't belong there showed up...and a suspicion formed in the minds of those watching...and a plan.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"NCIS? What's NCIS doing here? Montana isn't anywhere near the ocean last I checked."

Gibbs didn't bother to answer. Instead, he brushed by the FBI agent and headed for the entrance, Ziva and Tony in tow.

"Hey! This is a restricted area!" the agent blustered. He'd been sent up from the FBI office in Salt Lake City to coordinate with the local FBI agents from Missoula and didn't really know what he was doing in any case. He was competent, but this was not his area of expertise. His instructions had been to secure the area, keep the journalists out and begin a survey of the damage. Someone else would come and take care of the rest. Apparently, he hadn't been told _who_ the someone else would be.

"Call your boss," Tony tossed back over his shoulder. "That should clear things up."

The three of them went down in the emergency elevator which still worked and down into what had obviously been a major center of operations.

"Wow. Who knew that something like this could be in Montana?" Tony said.

"Why do you continually assume that these western states are boring?" Ziva asked as she looked around at the damage...which was considerable.

"Because they are."

"Obviously not. Perhaps they want to keep people like you out of them and so they do not let the excitement out."

"Hey! I'm a–" He didn't get to finish. Gibbs delivered two swift headslaps to the bickering pair.

"Is this helping us find McGee?" he asked.

"No, Boss. I'll go this way." Tony walked down the hall, peering in the rooms as he passed. Ziva headed in the opposite direction, mirroring his actions. Gibbs looked at them and then around at the ruined base. Tim had been here. For a week. Now, _no one_ seemed to know where he was.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Eight hours earlier..._

Tim staggered out of the trees. A road! A real, paved road! With paint! He almost wanted to kiss it, so welcome was the sight of an indication of civilization. He limped his way over and wondered which way he should walk...and if he should avoid the road altogether. He actually flushed with embarrassment at his remembrance of his actions a couple of hours ago. He was lucky he hadn't been caught...breaking into a house to use the telephone...and get a drink of water.

_It's this life. I can't live in it,_ he thought and turned right. He walked until he saw a sign...

"U.S. Highway 12. Where's highway 12?" Then, his tired eyes tracked in on the sign next to it. "Lolo Creek Road." He was standing there, staring aimlessly when he noticed a car coming. Quickly, he ran off the road and back into the trees. He decided to follow the road as much as possible, but he wouldn't stay in view of the people driving on it. Any one of them could be a danger to him now. He wished...how he wished that he could call for help, but he didn't dare break into another house. He didn't dare use a public phone...because it was, well, _public_. He didn't know what to do...except that he had to get back to DC...somehow. He felt in his pocket and found the flash drive Lawrence had given him. There was more than one reason he needed to get away.

The problem was getting there...and not attracting too much attention with his obvious injuries. He couldn't go to a hospital. They would have to ask questions. That was required. It was enough to make him weep in frustration. He _needed_ to get away from here. He _needed_ help. He didn't want to have to do this all alone, but he couldn't see any other option, not until he made it safely back to DC, back to NCIS. Unbidden, an image of the building welled up in his head, the building, the people, the place he felt so safe. The _only_ place he felt safe.

With a deep breath and a sigh, he continued his trek. It only took another hour to come to a city. He crept back to the highway and almost wept when he finally knew where he was, when he saw the sign which read, _Entering Missoula_. Missoula. Montana.

_I'm in Montana. That means that DC is only..._ he faltered. _...over 2,000 miles away._ It might as well be on the moon. The thought was enough to sap him of his already low energy. He sank to the ground beside the road and dropped his head into his hands. For not the first time, he wished that he hadn't awakened in that ravine, muddy and alone. He hated how alone he felt, how hard it was to believe that there was anyone in the entire world he could really trust, really confide in.

_I have other responsibilities right now,_ Tim said silently, giving himself a shake. _There's still a threat to locate and defuse. I don't have the right to give up._ He thought of Lawrence and wondered if he had made it, wondered if Amin had survived, if any of them had. He was just standing to walk again when a car stopped beside him.

He was poised for flight, but he knew he wouldn't be able to get away if the people in the car were after him...and to be honest, he didn't have the energy to run anymore. He'd been awake ever since regaining consciousness in the ravine and he was so tired.

"Hey, are you all right?"

The question, kindly meant, coming from an oldish lady sitting in the passenger seat of the sedan, was so...so not enough to address how he felt that Tim felt inappropriate laughter bubbling up inside him. He laughed and then, much as he had two years ago in Autopsy, he began to cry. It was too hard to pretend that he was "all right" when he had never felt more hopeless.

Immediately, the car door opened and the woman had an arm around him before he could pull away.

"Oh, dear. Let us give you a ride."

There was nothing he'd like more, but...

"No, I can't. I can't. I have to..."

"What?"

"I have to...and I can't put you in danger."

The words he said sounded too much like paranoia and he wished he hadn't said them. What he didn't know was that his appearance was such that they were predisposed to believe him. His clothes, although torn and muddy, bloodstained, were obviously of good quality. He himself had a look of a normally well-connected man. It was relatively easy for them to think the best of him.

"Let us help," she insisted. "I won't ask you any questions...just like in the movies."

Tim looked down at her. She was just over five feet and incredibly dwarfed by him.

"I..." It was so tempting. "I just need to get to a truck stop."

"There are plenty of those. Where are you headed?" her husband asked.

Tim hesitated, but then, just couldn't care enough to bother hiding anymore. "DC."

The two exchanged glances. "Okay, why don't you get in the back here and we'll give you a lift," the woman said. "Oh, don't worry about getting blood on the upholstery. That means I can finally convince Lyle to let us get a new car." She smiled encouragingly.

Finally, Tim nodded. He so _wanted_ to have the same feelings about people that he used to: that they were mostly good and trustworthy. So he got in the car and settled on the seat, bag clutched tightly in his hands.

"Is it far?"

"No. Not far at all." The woman smiled again. "You look so tired. You should just close your eyes. Even a two-minute nap is better than nothing."

Tim couldn't argue with that. His eyes were already closing as she spoke. Before they'd gone another mile, he was dead asleep.

"What do you think, Lyle?" the woman, whose name was Blanche, asked her husband.

"I think you're daft," he whispered back to her as he looked in the rearview mirror at the exhausted man in the backseat. "What if he'd turned out to be an escaped criminal or something like that?"

"He's not. You can see it in his eyes," Blanche said firmly. "So?"

"You're not serious."

"I am."

"Are you sure?"

"Definitely. How much more fun could this get?" She smiled and knew that Lyle would listen to her. He always did.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

"Boss, definitely explosives. Possibly C-4," Tony reported. "Lots of residue is in here."

"Not enough to cause this much damage," Ziva disagreed as she rejoined them. "If this is C-4, it is too powerful. I have found the center of operations."

"Where?"

"This way. It was not destroyed by a bomb."

The hallways were very long and it seemed to take a long time to get to the central hub. When they arrived, they were surprised at how relatively pristine it was. The computers were sitting there looking for all the world as if they were ready for use. There was some structural damage, but all in all, everything was too clean.

"What happened?"

"Perhaps the invaders did not get this far," Ziva suggested as she looked around.

"So...does that mean they're dead?" Tony asked.

"No, it does not."

That voice did not belong to Gibbs. Tony and Ziva whirled around, guns out.

"I would not if I were you."

There were four people in the room. Where they had come from was anyone's guess, but the weaponry in their hands, the expressions on their faces...all that told the NCIS agents that they were _not_ there to help.

"Drop your weapons."

"Who are you?" Gibbs asked.

The man who was giving the orders smiled. "That is not your concern. What _is_ your concern is that if you do not drop your weapons, I will kill you. That is all that should worry you."

"Oh, really?" Tony asked. "And if we drop our weapons, we'll be okay, is that it?"

"I did not say that," the man answered. "'atliq al-'ahad minhum."

Tony didn't understand, but Ziva and Gibbs did. They began to move when one of the men fired.

He didn't miss.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Translations from Arabic:_

_N'am. Rajul wāhid. La. Laisa al-ahad minhum. ~ _Yes. One man. No. He is not one of them.  
'_Afham. ~ _I understand_.  
__Yurīdūn 'an ya'rifūn man huwa. ~ _They want to know who he is.  
_Ma 'an mashrū'nā? ~ _What about our plans?  
_Sayabda'ūn 'an yu'iddūn. ~ _They will begin to prepare.  
_Limatha? ~ _Why?  
_La 'a'rif. ~ _I don't know.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

The car bumped heavily and jolted Tim back to consciousness...albeit reluctantly. He was thinking about opening his eyes but really didn't want to. Every inch of him ached and his head was spinning a little...rather unpleasantly. He wanted to be asleep.

"I'm not sure I agree with this, Blanche."

"You've been saying that for the last 200 miles."

"More than that."

Tim squinted. The sun was in his eyes. He was laying on the seat. When had that happened? He had just closed his eyes and rested his head on the seatback. He raised his head and it started pounding. He groaned and dropped his head back to the seat.

"Oh, you're awake! Welcome back to the land of the living."

Tim shaded his eyes with his hand and looked toward the front seat. The friendly woman was staring at him with a huge smile on her face, one that said she was having the time of her life. Tim felt that she looked entirely too happy considering how miserable he felt.

"What do you mean?" Tim pushed himself into a sitting position and, even though his head was still spinning, he looked around himself in shock. The scenery was _not_ the same as it had been. For one thing the mountains had disappeared. "Where are we?"

"About the middle of North Dakota, dear."

"North Dakota!" Tim exclaimed. "How...what..."

"You've been asleep for well over eight hours. I moved you down onto the seat a few hours ago. You were going to get a crick in your neck...and your snoring was bothering Lyle."

Tim couldn't help but blush a little at that, but his shock was such that it didn't last long. "Eight hours? You were going to...take me to a truck stop," Tim said lamely. "What are you doing?"

"_We_," she said with particular emphasis as she looked at her husband, "are giving you a ride."

"No...you shouldn't...you...I don't need..."

"Young man. Tell me. Do you have a car?"

Tim felt suddenly like he was being interrogated by his mother. "No...not here."

"Do you have any money?"

"Not much." _And I left some of it at the house I broke into._

"How about someone you can call for help."

"No." Phones were definitely off limits in terms of asking for aid.

"Then, how is it that you think you would be able to make it to Washington, DC, without any of those things?"

Tim hung his head, pressing his hands against his temples, feeling the aches more strongly than ever. He felt a hand on his shoulder and flinched away before realizing that it could only be his benefactor.

"Not used to relying on other people?" she asked.

"Not lately," Tim admitted. "People have a way of...taking advantage of weaknesses."

Whatever she thought about his pronouncement, she didn't mention it. "I'm Blanche. My husband is Lyle. We're headed to Chicago because we wanted to celebrate Lyle's retirement...and finally getting all our children out of the house. However, we have decided that DC works as well. Lyle would like to see the monuments, especially the one for the Vietnam War. We've never been. Too many kids, not enough money. So...unless you have a better idea, we'll be your chauffeurs while you are in need."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Tim said, sorely tempted though he was to accept her generosity. "I wasn't kidding before." He looked up and saw her smiling delightedly.

"Think about it. What are the odds that whoever you are running from knows that you are in a car with a pair of old fogies from Kamiah?"

"Kamiah?"

"My point exactly. _You _haven't even heard of it."

"Where is it?"

"Just a piece of the middle of nowhere in Idaho."

Tim both wanted and feared the idea of trusting these two people who had calmly changed all their plans in order to get him where he needed to go. He licked his dry lips. Blanche was right about that much. It wasn't like he'd _planned_ on being hijacked by a retired couple. Not even Lawrence would have expected something like that. ...and he so wanted to get back to DC, to where he'd be safe again, to his friends. ...but imposing on these nice people...if they really _were_ nice...

"We're coming up on Bismarck. There'll be a few rest areas around the city. We'll stop at one. You can get cleaned up because I'm positive that you've seen better days."

"Understatement of the decade," Tim said.

"Well...here's how we'll play it. We'll stop, get something to eat. You can go and get cleaned up. If, after that, you come up with something better than us, we'll leave you to it and go on to Chicago. If not, then, we'll drive you to DC, look around at the sites there and maybe even get a glimpse of corrupt politicians. How does that grab you?"

Tim looked out the window at the rather bland scenery flashing by. He hadn't really looked at himself, but he was sure that Blanche was right. He probably looked terrible, what with being buried under rubble, being chased by people shooting at him and then falling into a creek. It was probably a miracle that he wasn't dead. That made him close his eyes again, this time to hold back the tears that often threatened when he truly thought about his situation. He didn't let himself do that much. It was a dead giveaway...and he couldn't let people know just how miserable he really was.

"Sir?"

Tim jumped and looked back at Blanche, realizing with some embarrassment that he hadn't ever answered her. She didn't look annoyed or impatient, however. She looked...pitying.

"Yes, that works for me," he said and tried to fall back under the emotionless mask that had served him so well...but this time, with this woman, a few years older than his mother but no less kind, with her looking at him, he found that it was impossible and all he wanted was for her to hug him and tell him that it was okay. So, he looked back out the window to cover the pitiful expression no doubt blazing out of his eyes.

"Can you tell me your name or is that taboo as well?" she asked.

Tim didn't look at her, but he shook his head. "My name is Tim."

"Really?"

That made him smile a little. "Yes. Really."

"Nice to meet you, Tim."

"Likewise," he replied, but he kept staring out the window. As he paid more attention to the area around him, he had to admit that it wasn't as bland as he'd first thought. It was just that he'd become used to the mountains, even in the brief amount of time he'd been outside. There were no mountains in North Dakota.

After about ten minutes, Lyle steered the car onto an off ramp and headed to a clutch of rest areas.

"Choose the most empty one," Blanche directed.

"You know, the one that's empty might just be empty for a reason," he countered.

"Well, if we pull up with Tim in his condition, people are liable to get ideas. Look, there aren't many people at that one! Go there!" She pointed.

Lyle sighed but did as she said. As he signaled to turn left, he looked back at Tim for about the first time.

"You married?" he asked

Tim shook his head without speaking.

"Well, here's some free advice: when you get married, don't bother arguing with your wife about stuff like this. She'll always win whether you're right or not. It's just not worth the aggravation."

Blanche slapped his arm good-naturedly. "Oh, you." The car eased to a gentle stop at a gas pump and she kissed him on the cheek. "It's a good thing I love you."

"Yep. I agree," he said and then got out of the car to fill it up. Blanche looked back at Tim.

"You should go and get cleaned up. If you have any clothes in that bag, I'd seriously consider changing."

"That bad?" Tim asked.

"Worse, actually," she said and smiled. "Go on."

Tim got out and walked to the restroom. There were a few other customers and he tried to avoid their glances. Once he reached the restroom, thankfully a single stall, he looked at himself in the mirror and had to agree with Blanche. As awful as he felt...it was all reflected in how he looked. He had a large gash on his face, long but shallow, with dried blood crusted on it. There was a large knot on the side of his head from getting buried in the rubble. The other side of his face had long abrasions, probably from his fall. His shirt had long tears in it that would, unfortunately, be impossible to fix.

_I have too many t-shirts anyway,_ Tim thought to himself and pulled it off, intending to use it as a washcloth before throwing it away. He looked at his now-bared torso and sighed. No wonder he ached. He was a mottled mess. Then as he leaned over to turn on the water in the sink something else caught his eye. They weren't large, nor particularly noticeable. In fact, two years had faded them almost to invisibility and among the bruises, cuts and scrapes he'd just suffered, it was strange that he'd focus on these small insignificant things.

Six...six thin white scars. Slowly, he reached out and touched them. Four on the right side, two on the left. With a deep inhalation, he stared at them, remembering the person who had inflicted those slices on him. The same person he had tried to kill half a year later. The same person who had broken his legs, jabbed a needle into his brain and stolen his ability to communicate for those few awful days. The same person whose death had driven him temporarily insane.

Tim now looked at himself in the mirror again. His life, since that night so long ago when Gibbs had asked him to hack the CIA...it had changed so drastically from what he had ever thought would be his life. He was scarcely recognizable. All these things he'd done to try and maintain some _semblance_ of a real life...they were all so much fluff in a life that was as dark and miserable as he had been when trapped in the world created by the atropine they'd given him. He had covered up what his real life was like by pretending that it was all okay, or that it was as okay as it could be.

The anger that stirred inside him as he stared at his cut and bruised face, as he took in the changes both physical and emotional, it was a deeper type of fury than he'd experienced before. It was not the same as his crazed raging. It was...different. Better? He didn't know, but it seemed to have the power to break through the funk he'd been living in. He wasn't sure what had done it. Was it the ignominy of being forced to cut himself off from those he cared about? Was it the fact that in their efforts to keep people from finding out about him, he'd nearly been killed anyway? Or was it that, while the people who were leading the country cared only about what he could do, a woman from Kamiah had cared enough about him, not only to stop and see if he was okay, but to overrule her husband and take him to the one place he needed to go?

He didn't know, nor did he know the answer to the question she had posed. Would he accept their help?

At that moment, all he wanted was to get back to DC, to get back to Gibbs, Tony and Ziva, to be surrounded by people who cared about _him_ rather than what he could do. That's where he wanted to be.

With more vigor, he began scrubbing at the dried blood on his face, on his arms and hands. Once he got back to DC, he'd tell them what was really going on...and maybe they could help him get out of this mess...after he'd helped Lawrence (if he'd survived) figure out where that next bomb was going to be placed.

_I'm not going to face this alone anymore._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It seemed to have taken no time at all. The man had moved his gun preternaturally fast, swinging it from Tony to Gibbs and firing in less than a second. Ziva and Tony stood in shock for a split second at the sight of Gibbs falling to the ground. They both raised their guns in a futile gesture of defiance, but even Ziva recognized that they were outgunned and had only a chance of getting themselves killed.

"Put down your weapons," the man said again. "If you wish to die, please, continue to hold them. Otherwise, I recommend that you drop them and check on your friend."

For another two seconds, Ziva and Tony looked at each other before tossing their weapons on the ground.

"Wise decision." He looked at his companion. "Did you kill him?"

"La. Wa lakin 'argab fī qatlihi."

Ziva glared at the man and said some choice words in Arabic, mostly questioning his parentage.

"He will die if we do not help him," she said.

"You are not helping his case," the leader commented.

"Please," Tony said, little wanting to beg but putting that aside in favor of stopping the blood he could see oozing out of Gibbs' arm.

Almost negligently, the man indicated that they could move. Tony knelt beside Gibbs and checked his arm. It was mangled by the bullet which was a large caliber and fired at close range. Little wonder that Gibbs was lying so dazedly on the floor. Tony shucked his jacket and wound it around the gaping wound. Gibbs opened his eyes and looked at the bloodstained garment.

"What do you want?" Ziva asked, still glaring.

"You will come with us."

"Limatha la naqtal al-yahūdīa al-'ān?"

"Limatha la tujarrib?" Ziva spat.

The man raised his gun but was stopped.

"No," he said. "They will come with us...but if you try to run, we _will_ kill you." He indicated that the others should pick up their weapons. "Stand him up and we will go. If he cannot stand, we will kill him and be done."

Having no other choice, Tony helped Gibbs to his feet. He hadn't said much but Tony could see that was because of the pain and he didn't want to show how badly he was injured. As worried as they were for Gibbs, there was another thought percolating in their minds.

_Did they kill McGee?_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Translation from Arabic:_

_La. Wa lakin 'argab fī qatlihi._ ~ No, but I want to kill him.  
_Limatha la naqtal al-yahūdīa al-'ān? _~ Why don't we kill the Jew, now?  
_Limatha la tujarrib? ~ _Why don't you try?


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

They were spirited away from the computer room, moving as quickly as was possible with Gibbs slowly bleeding to death. Already, Tony's jacket was stained red with his blood. Ziva's hands had been tied together with a cord and she had been thoroughly frisked by their female captor (the men seemed disgusted at the thought of touching her); all of her knives had been found.

Normally, Tony would be shooting sarcastic comments at their captors, but his worry had increased with every possibility that had run through his head. All of them were looking at Ziva with nothing less than pure hatred. The callous way they were all being treated told him that they were a means to an end, nothing more. There was nothing personal about this abduction...but these people were willing to do whatever it took to get what they wanted, and if that resulted in the deaths of the NCIS agents, it didn't matter in the slightest.

Gibbs was bleeding, his blood dripping to the floor. At first, Tony thought that it was that he was really bleeding that badly, but then, he noticed that Gibbs' hand, ostensibly supporting his injured arm, was squeezing drops from Tony's jacket. He was leaving a trail. Not daring to acknowledge the desperate attempt at marking their path with even a glance, Tony sighed inside with silent relief. Gibbs wasn't as injured as he was currently feigning.

Ziva's hands were bound in front of her. It had seemed foolish until they turned a corner and a knocked-out wall revealed a long narrow tunnel, with a dim light on the other end. She was forced to climb over the rocks using only her bound hands for aid. No one got close enough for her to actually touch them. That made Tony smiled a little bit. They had no illusions about how dangerous Ziva was.

Then, his smile faded as they reached the end of the tunnel and emerged into the light, no federal agents in sight. They must be on the opposite side of the complex. The group worked together as a single unit. No need for words to communicate. They weren't fanatics in the sense that they were mindlessly killing themselves. This was about killing _without _being killed. It was a pragmatic sort of attack. People who were thinking clearly, _not_ blinded by religious fanaticism, were dangerous, much more dangerous because they believed in what they were doing without the simple desire for self-sacrifice and eternal reward. They would kill systematically without thought...they didn't need to think because it was all planned already, along with any necessary changes.

There was a car down on a heavily-rutted trail.

_Now I know how they got in undetected. How did they know about this? About this place, about this entrance?_

Then, it was all clear. These people must have been responsible for the destruction of the base. Tony helped Gibbs into the car and then was shoved in behind him. Ziva was forced into the luggage compartment, open to the rest of the car, but netted. Before they did that, Ziva's hands were released and then rebound behind her back...as were her legs. Taking no chances...and they probably enjoyed it. It made Tony fume with anger, but anger made it hard to think clearly. He forced himself back onto the issue at hand. So...what did they want with NCIS? The only NCIS agent involved in this was...

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Are you sure you don't want me to drive?" Tim asked...for the the millionth time. Apparently, their trust in him had its limits at driving their car.

"No, Tim, it's fine," Blanche said. She was driving while Lyle slept in the passenger seat. "It's four in the morning. Chicago isn't bad at all at this time of...morning."

"You don't have to wear yourselves out getting me to DC," Tim said. "I mean, I _am_ kind of in a hurry, but...you could have stopped at a hotel."

Blanche met his eyes in the rearview mirror. "You don't know Lyle. He's all for driving steadily to get where we're going and then resting only when we get there. Why spend money on a hotel when it's just an added expense to the gas we're already paying for?"

Tim smiled and fell silent again. He was thinking about the fact that there was still a terrorist out there ready and willing to plant a series of bombs somewhere in the United States.

_How can I find them now? What about Lawrence and Amin and the Sams? Will they be able to find them without my help? Did they even get out alive?_

The smile had been fading from his face as his thoughts got darker and darker...almost as dark as it was outside. It wasn't that his resolve had lessened, but there was too much to worry about. What would happen? What if he couldn't find them soon enough? What if they got away with it? What if they had another disaster on American soil...worse than 9/11? He could still remember where he'd been when he'd heard the news. He hadn't even been able to believe it at first. It just seemed impossible. Now...it was in his power to stop something even worse from happening...or was it? Did he really have the ability?

_Will I be able to handle it if it happens and I don't stop it?_

He needed to have someone to confide in. Amin had been right. He couldn't handle this kind of pressure, responsibility, whatever...on his own. He couldn't do it...not alone. The only thing that kept him from devolving into the quivering mass of terror, nerves and guilt that had been his downfall before was that he was getting closer and closer to DC, closer to the people who could help him.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Hal tasmah hāthahi al-jibāl laka bi'an tash'ur bi al-qawā? Karajul?" Ziva sneered at her captor. They had not removed her bonds when they stopped for the night, preferring to drag her out of the back of the car and drop her unceremoniously on the floor beside Tony and Gibbs. The leader had thrown a meager first aid kit at Tony who had only managed to catch it with his hands rather than his face through sheer luck.

The man she had directed her invective at walked over to her and slapped her across the face, hard enough that she was knocked to the ground, unable to get herself up gracefully. She slithered back and forth until she got a purchase on the floor with her elbow and sat back up, glaring at the man.

"Jinsik hawāmm," the man said to her. "Sa'aqtalik 'awlan." Then, he walked over to the others, leaving the trio momentarily alone.

"Ziva, would you shut up?" he hissed as he began to dress Gibbs', now many-hours-old wound. "I don't know what you're saying, but stop antagonizing them."

Ziva said a few more choice words, this time in Hebrew. "If they are focused on me, they are _not_ focused on you...and you are not restrained. They will not hurt any of us until they realize that they cannot use us." She looked at Gibbs. "Are you all right, Gibbs?"

"More or less," Gibbs said, his voice quiet...although Tony suspected it was for more than one reason. "The bleeding's stopped at least."

Tony looked over at the quartet. They were staring at him...rather intently, although not moving toward him yet.

"Uh-oh. I have a feeling I'm going to be the first contestant on The Price Is Right."

Gibbs followed his glance. "Probably right."

"These are dangerous people," Ziva said. "I think it is unlikely that they will be gentle...but neither will they be overly cruel at the beginning...except with me."

"Yeah, I'd come to the same conclusion." He dropped his voice very low and switched over to Spanish in the hopes that they might not understand. "Creen que esto tenga que ver con McGee?"

"Que otro motivo prodrían haber tenido para secuestrarnos?"

"Si creen que...sabemos algo sobre–" Gibbs broke off as they approached.

"You." The leader pointed to Tony. "Come."

"Anthony DiNozzo, come on down!" Tony announced as he got to his feet. While the man said nothing, there was a slight hardening of his expression. They walked down the hall and into a small room.

"Sit."

Tony sat. "Anthony DiNozzo. NCIS Special Agent. Serial number...is...uh...well, why don't you just pull out my badge and tell me what my number is? I can't remember."

The man said nothing for a long moment. Tony forced himself to stay looking blase, but inside he was more worried. He usually depended on getting an irrational rise out of people when things looked bad. This man was completely in control of himself. He had not even bothered to restrain Tony in any way. Normally, that would be license to grapple, but Tony had a bad feeling that he wouldn't make it more than a step before he'd be dead.

"Why is NCIS in Montana? NCIS investigates matters related to the Navy, to the Marines. They do not investigate incidents in converted mines in the Rockies."

"Maybe we're branching out."

"You are trying to make me angry. It will not work...but I am certain that with appropriate urging, you would become more helpful."

Tony brazenly held his gaze. "Anthony DiNozzo. NCIS Special Agent. ...and darn it, but I still can't remember my badge number."

The man stood up, stared at Tony and even smiled...and that made Tony more afraid than ever.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

When they reached Ohio, Tim felt a wistful desire to go out of their way and visit his family. He hadn't seen them in a long time. Certainly not for over a year. He mastered the impulse, however, and said nothing. He'd actually slept until Blanche had pulled over somewhere in Indiana in order to switch places with Lyle. She had smiled at him and then fallen asleep. Lyle wasn't nearly so talkative and so there had been only silence, along with the soft strains of oldies coming from the radio. In fact, the silence wasn't broken until they reached Pennsylvania.

"What is it that's happened to you?" Lyle asked suddenly.

Tim had been staring out the window...worrying. Lyle's voice startled him. "What?"

"You're much too young to have the troubles that show on your face. What happened to you?"

Tim smiled a little. "I can't tell you that. I can't even tell my friends and family." He sighed. "Sometimes, it feels as though I'm responsible for everything in the world."

"You might be tall, but you're not big enough for that."

"No, I'm not. That's the problem." He swallowed and then whispered, "That's always been the problem."

"Don't try to. You can't."

"You're not the only person to tell me that."

"Maybe you should listen."

"I'm trying to," Tim said and looked out the window again. "That's why I'm going back to DC...so I don't have to do it alone."

For the first time, Lyle smiled at him. "Then, don't worry about a thing. We'll get you there."

"Of all the things I have to worry about," Tim said, "getting there is not one of them. Not now."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony couldn't actually make himself walk out of the room. The nameless leader had to summon one of the others to drag him out and drop him on the floor next to Gibbs and Ziva.

"Are you all right?" Ziva asked

"I didn't win a brand new car," Tony wheezed and smiled. "Maybe next time."

The man gestured again, this time at Gibbs. "You. Come."

Gibbs stood, slightly paler than was normal for him and he walked into the same room.

"Que te preguntó?" Ziva asked, in Spanish once more.

It was all Tony could do to make his mind work enough to think in Spanish again. All he wanted to do was curl into a ball and try to ease away the pain. Nevertheless, he whispered back, "Porque estábamos en la mina ... que esperábamos encontrar ..a quien o qué estabamos buscando."

"Quiet!" the woman ordered.

Ziva scooted closer to Tony who didn't bother trying to sit up. At the moment, laying indecorously on the floor seemed like the best course of action. Ziva stared at the other three in the room for a few moments and then spoke to him again, this time in English. It seemed that they didn't understand Spanish after all.

"Are you badly injured?"

Tony shook his head. "No. Nothing permanent...just incredibly painful. They're pretty good at that."

"Yes. I am certain that is true. You are sure that there is no permanent damage?"

"No...but I don't think there is. He didn't...do anything that would cause permanent damage."

Ziva nodded. "Not yet."

"I know."

Then, they both fell silent until Gibbs came out a few minutes later. He was walking, but only barely. He was paler and his arm was bleeding again. He sat down beside them.

"Boss?" Tony asked. He was now sitting up, the pain having receded to a dull ache.

Gibbs smiled. "Tolerable."

They both nodded. What was there to say? They couldn't make it better, any more than they could escape...for now. Ziva waited expectantly to be taken next, but nothing happened. The leader came out of the room and sat with the other three and they talked in whispers.

"They ask you why we were there?" Tony asked softly.

"Yeah."

"Do they really know, you think? Maybe this is the softening up stage?"

"I don't know. Not yet."

Then, their conversation was interrupted once more as the quartet broke up. The man who had expressed the most overt loathing for Ziva came over, grabbed her feet and dragged her to a corner of the room. Then, he pointed to Tony.

"You. Over there," he said, pointing to the opposite corner. Gibbs was left where he was.

"I suggest you all sleep. You will be needing it," the leader said. Then, he and one of the other men left the room.

From across the room, Tony and Ziva looked at each other worriedly. Why had they not questioned her? It couldn't be from any sort of squeamishness about hurting a woman. They obviously didn't care about that.

Separated as they were, they couldn't talk to each other without being overheard...and so all they could do was think...and sleep.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Okay, you'll be coming to an interchange up here. Get off on 270," Tim directed. "Right there! Exit 53!"

Obediently, Lyle took the indicated exit and then, Tim was quiet again. He was getting almost excited to be back. As the population density increased, so did his eagerness to get to NCIS. Half an hour later, he saw the next exit.

"Take the next exit for the George Washington Memorial Parkway. There, you see it? Exit 43."

Only a few minutes later, Tim stared out the passenger-side window at the CIA Headquarters, his eyes haunted as he remembered all the things that had happened.

"Do we get off here?" Lyle asked as the exit came up.

"No!" Tim said and took a deep breath to calm himself down. "No," he said more calmly. "Not here. We still have about a mile." He tore his eyes away from the sight and focused on giving directions.

"Okay, this next spot's a bit tricky. You don't want to get off on the first 395 exit. You want the second one, but they're not right by each other."

Lyle slowed down and got to the appropriate on-ramp.

"Keep to the right..."

"Now, you want to be on the left..."

"Take the 6th Street exit...and then turn left at 5th Street..."

"...and a left at Virginia...and another left at 4th Street..."

Tim couldn't help smiling widely when he saw the familiar M Street come up.

"Okay, now, just go through this intersection and then stop right after you get through."

The light turned green and Lyle pulled through as directed. When he stopped the car, Tim smiled at them both.

"I can't thank you enough. I really...really can't. I'll just walk from here. If you turn around and drive straight up 4th Street to Constitution Avenue NE and turn left, you'll get to the Mall. The Vietnam Memorial is nearly at the Potomac again. I'm not sure about parking places but..."

"Tim, we'll figure it out...but why are you going to walk?"

"Just to be safe," Tim said, thinking that if someone was watching for him here, they wouldn't know that he'd been given a lift by these nice people. "The Hull Gate's just a block away. I have my ID. I'll be fine. Thank you. Thank you. I wish I could repay you somehow, but..."

"That's not why we did it," Blanche said. "Just keep yourself safe, all right?"

Tim smiled once more and gave them a glimpse of the person he really was. "I'll work on that. Thank you." Then, he got out of the car, hoisted his bag onto his back and started walking east along M Street. He turned back once and saw them waiting at the light. He waved once and pointed northward. Blanche waved back and then the light turned green and the car went north. Tim watched it until it disappeared from his view before continuing his trek. It was only half a mile to NCIS and he was determined to get there in good time. He wasn't sure exactly how he'd be able to explain all this to them. Even though he'd cleaned himself up significantly, he was still not looking his best, he knew.

_What does it matter? I'm home._

Everything went exactly as he had expected it to...

...until he reached the bullpen and found it empty.

---

_Translation from Arabic:_

_Hal tasmah hāthahi al-jibāl laka bi'an tash'ur bi al-qawā? Karajul? _~ Do these ropes make you feel stronger? Like a man?  
_Jinsik hawāmm. Sa'aqtalik 'awlan._ ~ Your kind are vermin. I'll kill you first.

_Translation from Spanish (special thanks to Lady Aracne!):_

_Creen que esto tenga que ver con McGee? _~ Do you think this is about McGee?  
_Que otro motivo prodrían haber tenido para secuestrarnos? _~ Why else would they have taken us?  
_Si creen que sabemos algo sobre ... _~ If they think we know something about–  
_Que te preguntó? _~ What did he ask you?  
_Porque estábamos en la mina ... que esperábamos encontrar ..a quien o qué estabamos buscando. _~ Why we were at the mine...what we expected to find...who or what we were looking for.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

They were bundled into a car again...again with Ziva in the back beneath the netting. Tony's hands were tied this time and Gibbs was handcuffed to the door. They drove all day, stopping only for gas. The windows were darkened which allowed them to keep their captives hidden. It was generally silent in the car. No one felt the need to speak...or else they decided it was dangerous to do so. Every so often, either Gibbs or Tony would look back at Ziva. She was extremely uncomfortable but no one would give their captors the satisfaction of knowing that. Gibbs was beginning to look more pale. Tony suspected some sort of infection or perhaps simply lingering trauma from being shot. There was no attempt at escape. It would be futile and would only lead to their deaths.

They were fed nothing and only given water in the morning before leaving. They were told that there would be no bathroom breaks for them, not until they stopped for the evening. Ziva, lying in the back, being jostled around by every pothole and every turn, turned her own thoughts toward the possible reasons why they had not questioned her the night before. She had no doubt that when they _did_ question her, it would be worse than for Gibbs and Tony. So...why had they not? It seemed strange and counterintuitive. All she knew for certain was that they were on a course toward their eventual death...as soon as they outlived their usefulness.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim looked at the desks. How could they be empty? ...and it wasn't that they were simply out. He wasn't sure how he knew, but he knew that their desks had not been occupied for more than a day. The certainty, the determination he'd felt before began to fade as he stared at this unexpected development.

"McGee?"

Tim whirled around at the sound. Suddenly, every sense was on high alert and, for the first time, he didn't feel safe in NCIS. As he stared at Jardine, her face covered with a mask, something clicked in his head. He couldn't have explained in words the certainty he felt, but he _knew_ it was true, regardless of the lack of evidence.

"How long?" he whispered, feeling his face settle into the emotionless lines of the mask. "How long have you been working for the CIA?"

For a moment, there was no motion at all. It seemed like all the life had been sucked out of the bullpen. He expected to see something change, either in Jardine's eyes or in her stance, something to change her into a person like Kristine Blumell, aka Tara Browning. Nothing changed, except that her eyes widened a bit in surprise.

"I...I don't know what you–"

"Save it," Tim interrupted harshly. "Tell me. How long have you been watching me? All that hanging around, talking to me, having information for the team...how long?"

Jardine pulled the mask down from her face. "I wasn't working for them when I started here," she said candidly. "I was offered a job to keep tabs on the place, nothing much, just occasional reports. Last year, my duties were expanded to include you as well. Simply to keep you in sight and make sure that you weren't in any danger. That's all, McGee."

Tim stared at her, trying to decide if he was furious or sickened by the realization that someone he had trusted was working for the people he hated. He turned away from her and looked at the desks again.

"Where are they?"

"I don't know."

He turned back, definitely angry. "Where _are_ they?"

"I said I don't know," Jardine replied, not getting angry in return. "They left more than two days ago. I haven't seen them since. My job isn't to watch them. It's to watch _you_. I've only dropped by to see if you were back."

"Stay here."

"What?"

Tim took a long slow breath. "I said, stay here. Don't go reporting to your boss just yet. I'll let you know when you can." He turned around and strode to the stairs. He climbed them quickly, walking to Jenny's office.

"McGee!" Cynthia exclaimed, standing suddenly. "What happened to you?"

"I need to talk to Director Shephard. Now."

"She's in a meeting with–"

Tim ignored her and walked to the door. He had just enough courtesy left in him to knock first, but he didn't wait to be admitted. He just walked in.

"Agent McGee!" Jenny stood up, her face lined with shock and worry. "How did you get here? Where have you been?"

"Where are the others?" Tim asked. He didn't realize what he looked like. Although he had cleaned himself up to some degree, he still had a long slash on his face, a knot on his head, scrapes on his cheek. He was wearing a t-shirt and his arms, bruised and cut, were painfully visible. The look in his eyes was very different from the one he'd had when he'd left, when he'd been walking down Hull Street.

"What a coincidence you should ask that, Agent McGee."

Tim suddenly twigged to the other occupant in the room. "Fornell," he said tonelessly. "Where are they?"

Fornell's eyebrows went up at Tim's lack of respect, lack of nerves. All he saw was the mask.

"Where have you been, Agent McGee?"

"Where are Gibbs, Tony and Ziva?" Tim asked, his patience wearing terribly thin.

"They're missing," Jenny said finally. "They disappeared from Montana."

Tim swallowed. "What were they doing there?"

"Looking for you," Fornell said. "You seem to have a habit of disappearing. We were ordered to allow an NCIS team in to investigate the attack on the mine near Missoula."

"Why? Why were they there? Why them?"

"Because of you," Fornell said, baldly. "You seem to be pretty important and orders came down from on high that someone was coming in to look for you. That turned out to be Gibbs and friends. They were down in the tunnels...investigating, I suppose. They never came out. The agent in charge went in and found a blood trail leading to an older part of the mine and then to the backside of the mountain. Because of the damage, there was no surveillance video of what happened. We can only assume that they came under attack and were taken."

There was feeling deep inside Tim's chest that was screaming to get out, but he couldn't...wouldn't let that out. He couldn't even take the time to identify it. It would be too dangerous.

"What are we doing to get them back?" he asked.

"_You_ are doing nothing, McGee," Jenny said.

"What are you talking about?"

"I've been instructed to keep you under protective custody."

"Instructed? By whom?"

"I'm sorry. I can't tell you."

Tim took another deep breath, trying to maintain control. "Who's going to look for them then?"

Jenny was silent for too long.

"No one?"

"Not yet. There's too much at stake right now, McGee," Jenny said, her tone conciliatory, even as she made it obvious that she found it distasteful as well. "They don't want to make it obvious that we know anything."

"What about me?"

"Fornell is going to supply..."

"I don't _need_ the help of the FBI to protect myself," Tim bit out. "You can't do this, Director. You _can't_!"

"McGee...Tim," Jenny said, "I don't like this either, but I have no choice. I did my best, but having you out there is...dangerous. The reason for the attack on that facility..."

"Was because of the investigation, _not_ because of me!" Tim said, cutting her off again.

"You can't be sure of that."

"Yes, I _can_. I was there. You weren't. No one else was," he added bitterly.

"Maybe it _did_ begin only as an attack to stop your investigation, but now, they must know about you, and if they do, what's to stop them from trying to take you?"

Tim felt as though the walls were closing in on him, like bars were appearing on the windows.

"We can't leave Gibbs and Tony and Ziva out there. If they _are_ after me, that means they're expendable. We can't sacrifice them."

Fornell, sounding rather frustrated, said, "You're more important than they are...at least in the eyes of the people who make the decisions."

"No. I'm not. What I can _do_ is more important. I don't matter at all." He turned around and walked to the door.

"McGee!"

"You can't do anything, Director. I understand. I know how it feels to have no choice." He looked back at her briefly. "I'm not going let that happen again. I don't care. I've had a bad week. I'm going home. If you want, you can send people there to drag me back, but unless you're prepared to take me into custody now, I'm leaving." He begged her silently to let him go.

"Agent Fornell, are your agents here?"

"Not yet."

"I guess we can't keep you here, then, Agent McGee," she said, nodding to him.

It was a lie, what she had said. They could arrest him if they wanted to, but they weren't going to do that. Fornell's hands were tied as much as Jenny's were. Tim's weren't...not yet. But if he couldn't rely on help from NCIS...or even from the FBI, he was going to have to do this alone. Anyone he could ask for help was gone, at least for the kind of help he needed. Suddenly, a horrible thought occurred to him, one he wanted to reject right away...but he couldn't. There _was_ a number he could call, someone whose phone wouldn't be watched, someone who had no qualms about breaking the rules...the law, a number entrenched in his brain. Before he could talk himself out of it, he walked out the room. Cynthia was there.

"Thanks for your help, Cynthia," he said. "I hope I can repay you...sometime."

"McGee, where are you going?"

Tim smiled, the mask firmly settled now. "I have some things to do."

Cynthia looked at him carefully and must have recognized what she saw in his face. "Don't forget that number, Tim," she said. "It's still set up and it's still secure."

Tim paused. "What did you do before you started working for the Director? You're not a normal secretary."

Now, it was Cynthia's turn to smile. "I could tell you that...but then, I'd have to kill you. Come back...and maybe I'll tell you."

"I'll keep that in mind," Tim said and then continued on his way. To his surprise, Jardine was still in the bullpen, sitting at Tony's desk.

"Agent Jardine, when you report in, tell your boss to expect me."

"McGee, what are you doing?"

"What no one else can do...something I don't _want_ to do, but something I have to do." He picked up his bag from where he'd dropped it and walked to the elevator. "Tell him. He's never surprised anyway, but I want him ready."

"Ready for what?"

"For me." The elevator doors closed.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Do you have any idea what you've done, Director Shephard?"

"No, Agent Fornell," Jenny said, her voice soft and calm. "I don't think you do either. The only who really knows is McGee. The rest of us are left obeying the rules."

"Don't you have it backwards?"

"Unfortunately, I don't. McGee is the one who will be operating outside the law now...and the last time he did it, he couldn't handle it. I don't know if he'll be able to either, but if anyone can find the ones who took my people, McGee will manage it."

"I thought your orders came from the President."

"They did. Agent McGee eluded us."

Fornell smiled bemusedly. "And worked very hard at it I can see."

"Tobias...maybe at some point I'll be able to explain some things to you. Until then, you're going to have to trust me...and McGee."

"Do you?"

"I trust McGee, but I don't know if that will do him any good."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

They started with Gibbs this time.

"Sit."

Gibbs sat on the chair. He could feel his wound starting to burn. It was infected and the longer he went without real medical attention, the worse he'd get. He didn't like the idea of being not in control of himself...and he didn't like being weak, but that was the current trend and there was nothing he could do about it. Unexpectedly, that thought brought Tim to his mind. Tim, who had felt as though his entire life was out of his control...to the point that he had no options but to do what he was told no matter how he felt about it.

"Why were you at that mine?"

Gibbs didn't bother to speak.

"How much do you know?"

"Oh, not that much. I wasn't at the top of my class."

"Tell me, Agent Gibbs, what is it that you expect to accomplish by your obstinance?"

"To make your job as difficult as possible."

"You are not succeeding. This is merely a sideline." He stood up again. "You are having problems with your wound, I believe. Tell me, Agent Gibbs, are you familiar with the use of cautery in medicine?"

"Yes."

"We will be using it. Tonight."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs was carried out that time...and he had screamed. The rooms were not soundproof. Tony and Ziva had looked at each other in worry at the pain-filled scream. Gibbs was dropped on the floor and Tony was the next in line.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim stared at his phone. He didn't want to do this. He had lived for a year without any contact with Carew. He didn't want to know what he'd have to do to get the help he needed. No one had shown up at his apartment yet. He figured that Jenny would be putting things off as long as possible, but he didn't have unlimited time.

"Just do it. You have to. Can't do anything else," he said to himself. A hard swallow and he picked up his phone, dialing the number with shaking fingers.

"_Agent McGee, I presume?"_

That voice...he had heard it in his nightmares and he had never wanted to hear it again in life.

"Director Carew."

"_I assume this isn't a social call. Agent Jardine seemed rather chagrined at her discovery, even guilty. I do believe that she had formed a genuine attachment to you and the rest of your team."_

"Really."

"_You doubt it?"_

"I find it hard to believe that you people can have such human failings."

"_What is it that you want, Agent McGee?"_

Tim hesitated, knowing that once he started on this path, he wouldn't be able to go back. There was no going back...but after two years of not being able to change things, he should be able to handle this.

"I need your help," he said.

"_Oh? And why do you think I'm in a position to help you?"_

"You're the director of the CIA. You have plenty of access to resources."

"_And in return for my generosity?"_

"I'll do whatever you want."

"_Anything?"_

One more deep breath and Tim made his deal with the devil. "Anything."


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

"Are you certain?" Ducky asked. He paused listening to the person to whom he was speaking. Jimmy listened with mild interest, but no more. "I am not sure that... well, if you think it would be useful. Of course." He hung up.

"What is it, Doctor?" Jimmy asked.

"I have been informed that I am taking a long lunch."

"Informed?"

"Yes. If it is extended, as it may be, you may call in Dr. Hampton. She will be more than willing to substitute for me."

"Yes, Dr. Mallard. Dr. Mallard?"

"Yes, Mr. Palmer?"

"Um...what's going on?"

Ducky smiled. "I'm not entirely certain, but it is sure to be thrilling." He walked to the doors of Autopsy and was stopped by Abby's sudden entrance.

"Ducky! Did you know that Tim came back...and then _left_? Without talking to _any_ of us?"

"Yes, Abigail, I was aware. I am sure he had his reasons."

Jimmy might be a bit awkward when it came to social situations, but he wasn't stupid by any means. That seemed too much of a coincidence to be an unrelated statement. He watched as Ducky hugged Abby and then skillfully extricated himself from her, claiming meetings. Then, Jimmy was alone with Abby.

"Tim was here, Jimmy! Did _you_ know?"

Jimmy shook his head.

"Why wouldn't Tim tell us that he was okay? With everyone gone...how in the world am I supposed to keep myself calm?"

Jimmy gaped for a moment. "Uh...I'm still here," he offered lamely.

Abby stared at him and then threw herself at him and hugged him tightly. "You're right. You are. Don't go anywhere, okay?"

"Uh...sure...whatever you say, Abby."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony walked out of the room, but he sat down and then promptly threw up. He was forced to clean up after himself, and didn't even have a witty remark to make.

"That was rather disgusting, Tony," Ziva whispered.

For a few seconds, it looked as though Tony wouldn't be able to answer, but then, a shadow of his cocky grin appeared on his face.

"Sorry...next time...I'll throw up in the room."

"Good idea."

Again, Ziva was left unharmed, but by this time, she almost would have welcomed torture. Her arms and legs were throbbing from being restrained for so long. The rare times she was allowed to use the bathroom, they had set her on the toilet themselves and then stood there and waited for her to finish. She would not give them the satisfaction of knowing how much pain she was in, however. If only because she was proud of her heritage, she would not let them see her pain.

Again, they threw her in a corner, made Tony sit in another corner...and left Gibbs where he was. He had only vaguely regained consciousness. The casual cruelty of their captors was beginning to wear on them.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ducky pulled up in front of Tim's building and was surprised to see Tim sitting there, his head in his hands. His bag was sitting beside him and he looked nothing less than forlorn.

"Timothy."

Tim jumped and lifted his head, confusion briefly coloring his expression. Ducky's eyes widened in shock at the sight that greeted him.

"You seem to have had an exciting week."

Tim smiled weakly and dropped his head again. "What are you doing here, Ducky?"

"You came to NCIS and didn't speak to anyone?"

"I spoke to the people I needed to see."

"Who would that be besides Director Shephard?"

"Just someone I needed to confront."

"You were _not_ at the Pentagon."

"No. I wasn't. Now, I'm back, but not for long."

"What happened to you?"

Tim laughed. "The walls just kind of caved in on me. You should go, Ducky. I won't be here long."

"Where are you going?"

"To get Gibbs, Ziva and Tony back."

Ducky cocked his head in surprise. "And how are you going to do that, lad?"

A car pulled up in front of Ducky's and a man and woman got out. Ducky looked at Tim.

"Timothy, you didn't."

Tim's eyes were bleak as he met Ducky's gaze.

"I had to, Ducky. They were out there looking for _me_."

"They wouldn't want this, not after everything that those people have done to you."

"I don't want it either, Ducky...but we don't always get what we want." He stood up. "Tell Abby that I'm sorry I didn't say anything to her. I don't think I could have left if I went down there."

Ducky stood as well. "Timothy, you're making a terrible mistake."

"I've made a lot of mistakes, Ducky. This might be the first one that I feel okay about making. If I can get them back and...and do what I was hired to do...it won't matter what comes after that."

"What is it that you were hired to do? By whom?"

Tim smiled, but his smile had no emotion in it. "I can't tell you that. Top secret and everything. Bye, Ducky."

Ducky wanted nothing more than to grab Tim and stop him from going, from getting in the car with Levi Carew and Alexis Greene...but he did nothing. He watched Tim get in the front seat, Alexis in the back, and he watched the trio drive away.

He watched Tim disappear and wondered if he would ever see him again...and if he did, what state Tim would be in at that time.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"What do you mean Timothy McGee is gone?"

Jenny kept a bland, slightly concerned expression on her face. "He came here, showed up out of the blue and I duly informed Agent Fornell and Agent McGee of the situation," she said. "Agent McGee was resistant to the idea of going into protective custody, especially upon learning of the disappearance of his team...as I told you he would be. He left this office and next thing I know...he's gone."

"And what were _you_ doing, Agent Fornell?"

"Being briefed by Director Shephard about the situation...sir."

"Let me get this straight. You allowed one of the most vulnerable and most valuable assets to national security just _walk_ out of your office?"

Jenny leaned forward. "Timothy McGee is a human being, Director. He is not a walking computer. He has rights and as he had committed no crime, there was no reason for me to restrain him. Or would you like to tell the public that rights only apply to certain citizens of the U.S. and not all citizens?"

"This isn't the end of it, Director Shephard."

Jenny smiled. "I know that. I know that far more than you do."

"Agent Fornell, you will coordinate with the..._protection_ detail and find Timothy McGee."

"Yes, sir."

The director of the FBI stormed out of the office. The door almost closed behind him, but Ducky came in his wake.

"Director," he said.

"I think I'd better excuse myself," Fornell said quickly. "After all, I have an errant agent to find. I hope you know you're doing, Director Shephard."

"So do I, Tobias."

Fornell walked out.

"What is it, Ducky?"

"It's worse than you thought it might be."

Jenny's expression became solemn. "What happened?"

"He's joined forces with the CIA...and the request seems to have been on his side."

"He did this...voluntarily?"

"It looks like it. He is going to find Jethro, Tony and Ziva...and I don't believe he's going to hold anything back to find them."

"I never thought he'd go there, Ducky. I swear."

"They have resources."

"They have Carew."

"It was Carew who came to get him."

Jenny was silent, her mouth open ready to deny what was obviously true. Now, she feared for the entire team...and she wasn't sure who was in the most danger.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim sat in silence as the car headed toward McLean...toward CIA Headquarters. For a wonder, neither Carew nor Alexis spoke a word. He was glad of that. He didn't want to think about the irrevocable step he'd taken in joining forces with these two people he so loathed. As the car went off the exit toward Langley, Tim had a thought which forced him to speak.

"Won't you get into trouble for getting involved?"

"Are you concerned for my position, Agent McGee?" Carew asked.

"No...more that I'll lose access to the help I need if you get fired."

Carew laughed. "We won't be operating out of headquarters. This is just a stop off on our way to a more secure location."

"How secure?"

"On the order of where we lodged you before, only a bit closer to DC this time around."

Tim almost winced at the reminder of their last meeting.

"What do you think we'll be able to accomplish, Agent McGee?" Alexis asked.

"I need to get my team back. I can't do that on my own, even if I could find them by myself."

"Oh, so we're to be backup?"

"If you like."

"I'm surprised you called," she said, sounding sarcastic. "The last time we spoke..."

Tim turned around and stared at her intently. "I remember," he said. "And I still feel the same way I did before."

That forced her into silence. With a smile reminiscent of Carew's, Tim turned back and faced front as the car pulled to a stop in front of a side entrance.

"You may as well come in with us, Agent McGee," Carew said. "We have some equipment to pick up."

Tim nodded and got out. As he followed Carew and Alexis into the building, he wondered, as he had too many times, what Carew's price would be. He had offered Tim a job once before. If he demanded that Tim work for him...

Tim swallowed and tried not to think about it.

They walked through nearly-empty halls. It was early evening. Tim had some time to think about what they might be picking up when Carew opened a door that looked like it led to a supply closet.

...it could be described as a supply closet...if that closet contained an arsenal large enough to take out Washington DC and enough electronics to set up an entire new intelligence center. He looked around in an awe he couldn't hold back.

"Welcome to the CIA, Agent McGee. I believe in being prepared for any event," Carew said. "Choose your poison. We'll need weapons and ammunition...but I'm assuming you'll want some high-tech equipment as well."

Tim nodded and walked to the...electronics section. He walked from computer to computer, booting them up, checking the specs, operating capacity, connecting capabilities. "We'll need internet access," he said.

"Of course."

"High-speed. Large capacity. Ethernet? Better if you have it."

"Done."

Tim picked up a laptop. "Scanner?"

"What for?"

Tim shrugged and found a compact scanner/printer/fax machine. He took it as well, along with connecting wires, battery chargers and a couple of other laptops, with the intention of increasing the capacity of what he'd be able to do.

"So...what are you going to do? Write that program again?"

Tim shook his head. "No. There's no time for that. We are operating on a very narrow timetable...a week at the most before...before it's too late."

"And your team will be dead?" Alexis asked.

"No. I fully expect that I'll need to find them much sooner than that...or else they'll be dead. No, I have another deadline to meet."

"And what is that, Agent McGee?" Carew asked. "You told me that you wanted your team back."

Tim met his gaze. "And I do."

"Then, what is this other thing? You said nothing about it."

Tim didn't flinch. He didn't drop his gaze from those disconcertingly black eyes. "You told me last year that you have a job to do, that you have three responsibilities. The country is first, then the people who work for you and last, the reputation of the CIA. Those are the things you protect and the order in which you protect them. I'm appealing to the first." He dropped the mask and let his desperation shine through. "I need you to help me...find my friends...but also keep the unimaginable from happening...again..." He paused because the next admission was a hard one to make to someone he hated so much. "...and I can't do this alone. Alone, I'll fail and there's no one else I can turn to for help."

Carew stared at him for a long time, neither breaking eye contact. Then, finally, he nodded.

"Very well, Agent McGee. You can fill us in on the way."

The trio walked out of the room, plunging the supplies back into darkness.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

"Do you know how long I spent training that mattress?"

"Well, why don't you just traipse on back to the base and tell the nice FBI agents in charge that you would like to pick up your bed and that they don't need to ask any questions?"

"Ha ha."

"Look, I don't like the secondary site anymore than you do, but there's nothing we can do about that now."

"You're still worried about Sam, aren't you."

"It's the nature of the game."

"But you're still worried."

"Yeah. It's my job to worry."

"Well, we're almost set up here. As soon as Xandra gets back to work her computer magic, we'll be up and running again."

"Good. Tell her to look out for McGee."

"You think he made it?"

"I think we'd have seen a missing persons report or something of that nature had he been taken."

"You think?"

"Yeah, I do. If the government had him, there'd be nothing...but if he's slipped out of their hands, he'll be the topic of discussion. ...and if he's still out there, then he'll be trying to track down that bombing site."

"You have a lot of faith in him."

"Not faith. I just have seen him work...and I think I kind of know _how_ he works, too."

"If he can, he will."

"Don't let Xandra hear you say that. She'll get jealous."

"Xandra is way too sensitive about those things."

"We need all the help we can get and her inflated ego will not help us find them any faster."

"I know, I know...but you don't have to live with her."

"We don't?"

"Okay, you do...but you don't have to sleep with her."

"And here I thought that was one of the things you actually _liked_ about me."

"Hello, dear."

"Hello. You ready for me?"

"In many ways."

"Don't think you've wriggled out of that just yet...darling."

"Uh-oh. You're in trouble now. Terms of endearment mean danger."

"Do you have computers for me or not?"

"Right here, o great one."

"Shut up. ...and yes, I'll keep an eye out for McGee, although I doubt we'll see him."

"...unless he wants to be seen."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"You are either a much better liar than I would give you credit for, Agent McGee, or else you have become embroiled in a larger secret than I would have allowed was possible to keep from me," Carew said as they pulled into the driveway of an innocuous house nestled in the woods north of Fredericksburg. It was not fancy like Tim's last two residences with the CIA, but it was fairly isolated.

"I'm not a very good liar."

"No, that's true, although you have managed to lie quite convincingly in the past."

"I'm not lying. I wouldn't lie about something like this."

"No, I suppose you wouldn't, not even to rescue your friends."

There was a small sound of disbelief from the back seat, but since it wasn't followed by any comment, Tim chose to ignore it.

"We have to assume that these people aren't working alone, but if we can find them, we might also be able to find where they're heading."

"You just want to find your team," Alexis said.

"Not just, but," Tim turned back to her as the car came to a stop, "I'm not pretending that I don't want to save my team. If I'm lucky, I'll be able to do that _and_ stop them from blowing up a city. If you're not interested in doing that, then, I don't care if you're here. I asked for you because, while I consider you reprehensible, I also know that you can do your job...and I don't know very many other people in the CIA. The ones I did know are all dead." He turned back to the front and got out of the car. Without saying another word, he pulled out the computers and walked to the front door.

Carew opened the door for him without speaking, but he gave the impression that he was highly amused.

"You can set up in the front room."

Tim nodded. He paid no attention to Carew and Alexis as they set up their arsenal and secured the premises. He networked the three laptops, hooked up the scanner. Then, once he was assured of a secured network and a high speed Internet connection, he pulled out the flash drive Lawrence had given him and plugged it in. Immediately, the images, the emails, the encryptions all began to pop up as Tim opened them and began running software to decipher the headers on the emails...again. He wondered if Lawrence and the others had made it out. It would be nice to know...both that they were okay and that he wasn't the only one trying to find these people. He knew that they would be watching for encrypted emails...but so would a lot of people. He sat back and stared at the laptops for a few seconds.

"What is all this?" Carew asked.

"The information I already have...which isn't enough."

Alexis sat on the other side of him. "You'll never have _enough_ information. What matters is what you do with the information you _do_ have. What have you done so far?"

"We've been trying to decipher the headers and track the origins of the emails. One of the others also thought that there might be additional information encrypted in the emails...but if there is, we haven't been able to find it...except..." Tim sat up and began to type again, bringing up the first email contact that had given them the go ahead to start preparing.

"Wait!" Alexis leaned forward. "Look at this line here. See here? Two periods...and on the next line again. Two more periods."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning...people like we're obviously dealing with here don't make mistakes in emails. That's how plans get ruined. You'd better believe that these would have been checked and rechecked before being sent. If this group has been operating out of the United States undetected for as long as you've said, then they don't leave anything to chance." She scooted over to another laptop. "Send me the email over here."

Tim nodded, putting aside his animosity in lieu of getting this done.

"You do realize, I hope, Agent McGee," Carew said, "that even if you _do_ decipher the location of the bombing, that will not necessarily lead you to your team."

Tim nodded grimly. "I know...but I can't give up on this either. There's too much at stake."

"Not even for your friends?"

He swallowed and looked at Carew. "If I end up having to choose between them, they'd never forgive me if I saved them at the expense of an entire city."

"Just so we're clear. You might as well send a copy over to me. Fresh eyes sometimes help."

Tim nodded again and then got back to work himself. Just once over the next few hours, he looked at the people flanking him and was amazed at the circumstances that had brought them together again. He hoped it was the last time, but he was afraid that it was just beginning.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

They followed the same pattern the next morning as had been established. Ziva couldn't stifle a moan when she was tossed into the luggage compartment. Gibbs was limp from the cautery. Tony himself couldn't even muster much concern for their conditions. Only once was his curiosity piqued during the day's travels. At one of the rest stops, he noticed that one of their captors was talking on a cell phone...and he seemed very agitated...no, not agitated. Excited. Eager. He hung up and spoke quickly to the others. In a restrained way, they were all equally excited.

He wondered what could possibly be that exciting for them...and it made him a little afraid. It probably had nothing to do with them...they were a sideline after all. It must be something else...and that was worrying. Since they were alone in the car, he risked speaking...in Spanish, just in case.

"Hola? Ziva?"

"Que?" The whisper was full of pain.

"Estas bien?"

"No."

"Tienes alguna idea de adonde nos dirigimos?"

"Al Este, mas que eso no puedo decirte."

"Estas bien _tu_, Tony?" Gibbs asked. His eyes were closed and he spoke softly, but, although his Spanish wasn't perfect, it was clear.

"Viviré. Y tu, Jefe?" He actually smiled a little at using the Spanish word for _Boss_.

"Estoy bien ... por ahora."

"Estan tramando algo."

Ziva tried to shift position and held back a moan. "No puede ser nada bueno. Sera acerca de McGee?"

"No lo creo. El no es el foco de atención. Debe ser ..." Tony broke off as the car doors opened and their captors came back.

The car began to move again and Tony heard Ziva's quick inhalation as they went over bumps. Gibbs was clenching his teeth against making any sound. Tony knew this would more than likely end with their deaths...and that also made him worried about what they'd do to get the information they wanted to have.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It had been exceptionally quiet in the rundown house for hours...but that changed rather suddenly.

Xandra punched her fist in the air. "Interception! Yes!"

"What? Are you sure?" Lawrence stood from his own computer and ran over.

"Absolutely. It's scrambled and I don't have the location, but I got 'em. It's the same signal I tracked after they attacked us."

Amin joined them. "Are you sure?"

"Stop asking me that!"

"Well...unscramble it!" Thompson said.

"I'm working on it!"

"Should we..." Amin trailed off, hesitating at implying she couldn't do it.

"You don't have to walk on eggshells around me, you know...and I'm not sure I _can_ decipher the signal. I just don't think that..." She stopped and stared at her screen in amazement.

"What?"

"I think I've just found McGee."

"_Found_ him?" Lawrence leaned over.

"Yeah. He's making a lot of noise...probably on purpose. He's asking questions about a pair of killer whales."

"Ha. He _would_ remember that."

"Who is he talking about?" Thompson asked.

"The Sams."

"Why is he talking about me?" Sam asked.

"He couldn't keep you two straight in his head. He started saying Sama and Samu to differentiate between the two of you."

"That does sound like names for killer whales."

Amin brushed that aside. "Where is he? Can you contact him?"

"I can ping his computer. If he's secure, he can call us back."

"Well, do it."

"Already done. Now, we have to wait...and I'll see what I can do."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

When they stopped for the night, they all immediately sensed that something was going to be different. ...and it was quickly apparent what that difference was going to be. Instead of leaving them all in the middle of the room, Tony and Gibbs were tied up and then strapped to chairs. Ziva was thrown on the floor and the leader of their captors stared at her in silence for about ten minutes. Then, he stood up and walked between Ziva and Tony and Gibbs.

"We have been patient, but now there is no more time. You _will_ tell me what I want to know."

"Or else, what?" Tony asked, although the amount of scorn he could express was limited. "You'll kill me? Go ahead."

"No. We will not kill you." He looked at Ziva. "For every question you refuse to answer, we will torture the Jew for ten minutes. If you continue to refuse, we will increase the time...but we will not kill her. We can keep her...and you...alive for as long as we wish to. You will watch as we cause her pain and she will hear as you become the reason for her pain continuing. Now...why was NCIS in Montana at that mine?"

Tony looked sideways at Gibbs and then at Ziva. She shook her head and he set his jaw...and remained silent.

Once they began, Ziva did not.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Translation from Spanish (special thanks to Lady Aracne)_:

_Estas bien?_ ~ Are you all right?  
_No._ ~ No  
_Tienes alguna idea de adonde nos dirigimos?_ ~ Do you have any idea where we're heading?  
_Al Este, mas que eso no puedo decirte._ ~ East. More than that I can't tell.  
_Estas bien tu, Tony? _~ Are you all right, Tony?  
_Viviré. Y tu Jefe ~ _I'll live. What about you, Boss?  
_Estoy bien ... por ahora_ ~ I'm all right...for now.  
_Estan tramando algo. ~ _They're on about something.  
_No puede ser nada bueno. Sera acerca de McGee?_ ~It cannot be anything good. Is it about McGee?  
_No lo creo. El no es el foco de atención. Debe ser ... ~ _I don't think so. He's not the focus. It must be...


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

It seemed to go on for hours. In reality, Tony had no idea how long he was forced to watch. The leader would ask a question, wait about two minutes for an answer and then turn Ziva over to the one who had expressed the most hatred for her existence. Ziva would scream for what felt like forever (although at first she did try to keep silent) and then he would ask either another question or the same one again. Question. Silence. Torture. Repeat.

Ziva was dropped to the floor and this time, she did not try to sit up. She lay limply, unmoving, her eyes closed, blood running down her arm this time.

"Were you looking for someone at the mine?"

Tony stared at Ziva, needing some reassurance that she would be okay. This hurt more than his own torture had. He had felt Gibbs tense up beside him and knew that he hated this as well...possibly more than Tony did. Still...both men kept silent.

Then, Ziva's torturer walked over to the leader.

"'Ismah lī bi'an 'uhriqaha," he said, his face twisted with glee.

The leader looked at Ziva and then at Tony and Gibbs. He nodded. "Na'm, wa lākin la tasmah bi'an taqtilaha."

"'A'rif." He left the room.

Tony felt Gibbs stir. He obviously knew what had been said, and he didn't like it.

_I should learn Arabic. Why didn't I ever try to before?_

Then, the meaning was clear, even if the words were not. The man came back in with a glowing brand. He walked over to Ziva and held it above one of the wounds on her arm. He brought it down and Ziva was suddenly screaming.

"Stop!" Tony screamed over the sound. "We _were_ looking for someone, but he wasn't there!"

The leader stared at Tony for a few seconds and then gestured. The brand was removed. Ziva's eyes opened, streaming tears, and she looked at Tony, shaking her head weakly.

"Just stop," he said. "He's a member of our team. We were looking for him, but he wasn't there. Okay?"

Tony stared at the man with loathing, not looking at Ziva, pretending he couldn't feel Gibbs nearby. He knew that they weren't supposed to give in to terrorists...which is what he assumed these guys were, but...well, he knew something else. Tim would _never_ want this kind of suffering to happen, not just for him.

...and he hated to think it, but at this moment, he couldn't help agreeing. Tim wasn't worth watching Ziva being killed by inches.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim's eyes were blurring. It had been hours, and even with the sleep he'd gotten in the car with Lyle and Blanche, he still felt as though he hadn't slept for a week...because, essentially, he hadn't for the week before that car ride. Since then, his world had dissolved to nothing but him...him and the CIA. He didn't allow himself to think about Abby, still at NCIS, no doubt furious that he had not spoken to her. He didn't think about anything outside of finding the team, finding the terrorists whose goals would create a situation worse than 9/11...but even that thought couldn't remain dominant for long. It was too overwhelming to think about everything that depended on him.

...too much...and he was doing things that, again, were illegal. At least this time he legitimate access to the CIA, but he had hacked satellites again, and he was putting out tendrils, trying to find any sign of his friends or of the people who had taken them. Any sign, and at the back of his mind, he knew that he, again, was willing to do anything to stop them. Anything. What if it drove him over the edge again?

_If I succeed, that won't matter._ After all, what was there to look forward to beyond his new connection to the CIA, to Carew?

"Agent McGee."

_Right on cue,_ Tim thought ruefully.

"Agent McGee," Carew repeated patiently.

"What?" Tim looked away from the monitor, only reluctantly.

"I appreciate the seriousness of the situation and I appreciate your dedication, but if you recall...the last time you put forth this kind of _killing _effort..." He stopped speaking...rather expressively.

Tim winced at the memory and Carew's choice of words.

"I won't even suggest that you sleep, but a break might be in order, perhaps even calorie intake."

Tim did not roll his eyes, but it was a near thing. The worst of it was that Carew was right. He could feel his energy flagging and his ability to concentrate was steadily deteriorating. He swallowed his pride and his hatred and turned around.

"What's for dinner?" he asked.

"I doubt that at this late hour whatever you consume would be considered dinner, but feel free to forage," Carew said and his mouth twitched in a smile. "I may even point out that there are some leftovers from a dinner eaten at an appropriate hour."

Tim didn't bother to reply to that statement, but he stood up, arching his back painfully and rolling his neck from side to side. It cracked audibly. He walked by Carew and into the small kitchen. Alexis was notable by her absence...and Tim was grateful for that. For all that he'd requested their assistance, the less time he spent in their company, the better.

He foraged and he ate, but he couldn't keep his mind off what state the team might be in at the moment...because of him. ...and selfishly, he couldn't stop himself from wondering what the cost of this assistance would be. After he finished, he went back into the main room. Carew was looking at a printout. Alexis was not there. Tim didn't bother to ask where she was. He sat down, but he had to ask...

"What's the price going to be?"

"Pardon?" Carew's tone said that he'd heard and understood very well what Tim had said.

Tim swiveled around to face him directly, keeping his face carefully blank. "What is the cost of your help going to be?"

"Why are you worrying about that now? Shouldn't you be focused on the task at hand?" Carew asked, his expression cynical.

"I can worry about a lot of things at once."

"Yes, I'm sure you can. Well, worry about this a little longer. Seeing as this assistance could end in our deaths, I think I'll keep you in the dark about my price. Rest assured that you _will_ find out...should we survive."

_I should have known that's what he'd say,_ Tim thought to himself. Without replying he turned back...and any retort he might have liked to make vanished at the message he found.

"They're alive!" he said in disbelief.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"He's pinged us back," Xandra reported. "And given a secure line to contact him."

"How secure?" Lawrence asked.

"Not as secure as it could be, but secure enough for our purposes."

Amin, who was also on duty at the moment, joined the other two at the computer.

"Are you sure he is acting of his own free will?"

"More to the point, are you sure it's him?"

Xandra sighed. "I'm as sure as I can be without actually initiating a conversation with him. What do you want to do?"

Lawrence exchanged glances with Amin and then nodded.

"Call him."

"Done...and...done." She pressed a few more keys and then sat back.

"McGee?" Lawrence asked.

"_That's me."_

"Are you sure?"

There was a laugh, but without much humor. _"As sure as I can be. You must have found my message about the killer whales."_

"Yes. Tell me how you got out."

"_Well, first, you threatened to kill me if I didn't leave. Then, you gave me directions. I followed them. I ran down the mountain, fell into a creek, broke into someone's house just to use the phone and then...made my way back to DC."_

They all caught the hesitation and the fact that he had definitely skipped something, but he'd also answered the question.

"We need your help, if you can give it."

"_I can. That's why I was looking for you. I have more than one reason to find them."_

"More than one?" Amin asked, confused.

"_They...they have my friends, although I don't think they _know_ they're my friends. I need to find them. They were looking for me when they were taken."_

Xandra gave Lawrence a look that said, _should I say it or will you?_

"Tim, you know that..."

"_...that they're more than likely dead already. Yes. I know...but no...bodies have turned up yet. I'm not giving up hope. I need to find them anyway."_

"Well, we have some info that might make your search easier...and help us out in the process."

"_Give it to me and I'll find something."_

They heard something in Tim's voice that had been missing before, but they weren't sure it was a _good_ addition, merely different. The way he spoke did not even admit that possibility of failure. Amin remembered what Tim had told him about being pulled into a world with no rules and his fear of what that would do to him. Now, he was beginning to understand, although he said nothing about it. Tim was walking further into that world by the minute, and he wasn't fighting it. He was incorporating it into his plan of attack.

"I like to hear confidence," Lawrence said, although he looked a little worried.

"_It's not confidence,"_ Tim said. _"But send it to me and I'll figure out where they are. I have a feeling it's going to be somewhere in the east...and I think it's going to be a suburb of a large city."_

"Why? What have you found?"

"_Nothing certain, but I've been reading the emails and reading some of the...background material on these people and I think they would prefer the drama of blowing up a sizable area near a larger well-known city. Maybe they'll go for New York again, or maybe one of the old cities, like Boston. I don't know, but I just have a feeling."_

"It's on its way to you," Xandra reported. "I've been trying to track the signal, but beyond being able to identify it as the same one I intercepted after the attack on our base, I haven't made much headway. I wish you luck."

"_Thanks. Send me contact information as well. If I find something, I'll give it to you."_

"Done."

"_Thanks. It's here. Signing off."_

There was a click and Tim was gone.

"He'll find it...whatever there is to find," Amin said.

"But at what cost?" Lawrence asked.

Xandra unexpectedly answered. "At _any_ cost. I could hear it in his voice. He doesn't care about anything other than finding them."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Who is he?"

"He's on our team, the probationary agent. I already told you. He was gone and we were looking for him."

"What was he doing in Montana?"

"I don't know."

The brand wavered closer to Ziva.

"I said I don't _know_!" Tony repeated, ignoring Ziva's repeated gestures for him to shut up. "We didn't know where he was and we have no idea what he was doing. For all we know he could have been sightseeing."

"Shut up, Tony!" Ziva said in a voice much too weak to give a command. The man with the brand kicked her in the stomach.

Tony continued to ignore her. He kept his eyes on the man who held their lives in his hands. At this moment, he couldn't decide at whom he was more angry. Tim or their captor? They were going to die. Fine. He could accept that, but if he said what little they knew, he at least could make their deaths quick rather than this long drawn out...and pointless agony.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Two hours. That's what it took. Two hours and Tim was staring in horror at what he'd found. He'd intercepted another call using the tracking information Xandra had forwarded him...but he couldn't believe it. He didn't _want_ to believe it...but it was there. Right there in front of him. There was no time to lose...for any of them.

"Carew!"

He materialized, as good as Gibbs in that respect.

"I know where they're headed."

"Where?"

"Wait." Tim plugged in the number to contact Lawrence.

"_I shouldn't be surprised that you're still up, McGee."_

"I found them."

"_Where?"_

"You're not going to believe me...but you need to...and you guys need to get on a plane as soon as possible."

"_Why? Where are we headed?"_

Tim brought up the map and sent the tracking results at the same time as Carew was able to see them and see what he meant.

They both spoke the same word at the same time.

"No."


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

"Are you sure, Agent McGee?" Carew asked.

"_Who is that, McGee?"_

"Director Carew of the CIA. Yes, I'm sure. It's going to be somewhere near DC. I agree that it won't be _in_ DC, but somewhere near it. One of the communities around the District. The call went to Arlington...and if your timeframe is correct, there's no reason to assume they'll be moving elsewhere. There wouldn't be time." He paused. "What's the area of damage if they used the entire shipment that was stolen?"

"_They could easily take out all of Arlington...or Alexandria...or Bethesda. In fact, if they managed to set all the charges at optimal distances, a concentrated explosion in any one of those areas could easily spill over into others...even into DC itself...and if they hit gas lines...power lines..."_

"So..." Tim swallowed at the image that conveyed: all of the Metro area ablaze. He stared at the map he'd made...and his eyes tracked in on Arlington Cemetery. For whatever reason, maybe the patriotism that he still felt, the idea of that sacred space being destroyed made him ill. "...so I guess this is a bad thing."

"_We're on a plane in twenty minutes, McGee. We're packing up as I speak. You've got Carew with you?"_

"Yeah."

"_You have any aid you could lend us, Carew? Arlington is still pretty large and I'm assuming that the place where you found them isn't going to be their current location."_

"The call was too short," Tim said, "but it looked like they were on the move again."

Carew interjected. "I have some teams available. If you think you'll need them, I'll send you info on how to contact them." He leaned over Tim and typed quickly, sending it with an emphatic jab. "They're already prepared to leave at a moment's notice."

"_Far be it from me to look a gift horse in the mouth...even when it comes from the CIA, but why?"_

"Because I believe in obeying the Boy Scout motto."

"_Great. We'll be at Dulles in a few hours."_

"I'm going to get to the other group," Tim said.

"_You can't tip our hand, McGee. I know you're worried about your team, but..."_

"No, Lawrence. You don't understand, and I'm not going to waste time explaining it. Besides, if we can take down the other crew, we could use them to track the main set."

"_McGee, we're talking about thousands of people dying! ...tens of thousands...and that's no exaggeration."_

"Yes. We are. They won't get away from me." Not us. Me.

There was a lengthy pause; then, Amin spoke.

"_I understand what you mean, Tim. Are you sure this is what you want to do?"_

"Yes. You have everything I have. If they get on again, you'll be able to trace the calls. Any other questions?"

Another long pause. _"No. No questions. Good luck."_

"Once we have them, we'll join up with you," Tim said and clicked off.

"Agent McGee, you realize how dangerous what you're proposing is? And in how many ways it could go wrong?" Carew was speaking to his back. Tim hadn't turned around yet.

"Yes," Tim said. He had steeled himself against any argument...and against the growing possibility that his friends had already died...for him. No. No, he wouldn't accept that. He _couldn't _accept that he might be responsible for more deaths.

"If they have even a second to contact their fellow terrorists, that could ruin everything."

"I know."

"Then, how do you propose avoiding that?"

A deep breath and Tim turned from the computer and faced Carew directly.

"There are only four of them."

"There are only three of us."

"If we have the right equipment and we move fast..."

For the first time since Tim had known him, Carew showed a measure of frustration. "What exactly are your intentions, Agent McGee? How far do you want us to go to get your team back? Will you compromise the safety of thousands in order to save the three people you _really_ want to save?"

These were the questions Tim didn't want to have to answer. He didn't want to have to choose between Tony, Gibbs and Ziva and thousands of people he didn't even know. He wouldn't choose. He wouldn't have to.

"We don't need to take prisoners," Tim said. "...at most, we'll need one. We need their cell phones, their computers. We need their equipment. They're not likely to talk anyway, not fast enough to be of any use."

Carew showed no emotion, as usual. He just nodded. "Just so I know how to prepare. We had better get on the move if we're going to get to them before they move on again. Where are they now?"

"Outside Frederick, Maryland."

"We'd better get moving then. That'll be nearly two hours' drive."

Tim shrugged and walked with Carew to their weaponry. He had his Sig, but he figured it would be worthwhile to have a backup. He also took another knife to replace the one he'd given to Lawrence. Then, he picked up one of the laptops and shoved it into his backpack. Alexis walked in from outside, saw their preparations and didn't say a word. She just armed herself.

"Infrared?" Tim asked as she picked up a scope.

"Of course. It's the only way to go," Alexis answered, with only moderate sarcasm.

The three left the house and as soon as they were on their way, Tim opened the laptop.

"Are you connecting to our satellites?" Carew asked mildly.

Tim nodded. "One was relatively close by. I've known you had some watching in this area for years."

"How?" Alexis asked.

"One of the cases before I was part of Gibbs' team. It involved some techs using spy satellites to watch nude sunbathers...and then inadvertently witnessing a murder."

Alexis let out a snort of laughter. "Figures."

Even Tim managed a smile. "Yeah."

"Where are we going?" she asked.

Tim zoomed with the satellite he'd tapped into. "About ten miles south of Frederick, Maryland. That's where they were and the infrared shows a group inside a house at the exact same location. I'm assuming they haven't moved on yet...and there are seven warm bodies. Seven."

"For now," Carew said dispassionately. "I don't deny that your team is more than likely alive at the moment, but how long that felicitous state will last is questionable, particularly if they _are _getting close to their goal. Carting them along will become too much of a hassle."

"All the more reason to get them out now," Tim said. He turned his attention back on the laptop and listened with half an ear as Alexis and Carew went over the plan to take out all the captors at once. Only once did a feeling of fear and disgust rise up inside him. He pushed it away as firmly as he had disregarded the attempts at reasoning with him. He had no time to secondguess himself. That thought brought to mind something Gibbs had told him years ago...after the whole debacle with Benedict.

"_You ever hesitate because you secondguessed yourself I'll take your badge! Are we clear?"_

Gibbs had been crystal clear then, and his words steeled Tim to do what needed to be done.

_I'm not second guessing myself this time, Boss. Maybe I can get you out of what I got you into. I'll save you instead of you having to save both me and yourself._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

They left Ziva on the floor and Tony and Gibbs tied to chairs. The leader had made a call following Tony's revelations. Ziva was staring at him and if she'd had the energy, he knew that he'd be flinching from the anger...but she didn't have the energy. They still had not unbound her arms and legs and the torture had had the desired effect. Gibbs had said nothing, and Tony hadn't had the guts to look at him.

"You should not have spoken, Tony," Ziva said in a voice just above a whisper.

"I'm not going to sit here and watch them kill you...not to keep them from knowing that we don't know anything."

"But we do, Tony," Gibbs said, finally breaking his own silence. He sounded exhausted and in pain. "We know who McGee is...and that's what they wanted to know. You told them what they wanted to know."

"McGee wouldn't have cared," Tony said, trying to justify what he'd done. "He wouldn't have wanted Ziva to be tortured or you or me."

"Do you want them to take control of McGee?"

"No...but I don't think they will, either."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because they don't have him already. Either he's dead or he's safe. Either way... _we're _the ones who need saving...and I don't think we'll get it," Tony said bitterly. "At best, they'll kill us quickly...and I'd rather that than let that guy at you again."

Ziva was quiet for a moment. "I am willing to suffer to keep others safe."

"Well, I'm not willing for you to suffer for nothing."

"Are you saying McGee is nothing?" Gibbs asked.

Tony looked at Gibbs, saw his eyes bright with fever, his mouth tight with pain...and it only reinforced his feeling. "No. I'm saying that what they want is nothing. We don't know what McGee was doing, why he was there or anything. All we know is that he's on our team."

"Is that not enough?" Ziva asked as she blinked back tears of pain.

Tony looked around the room that was likely to become their tomb. "No. It's not."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"No, my idea will work," Tim said.

"It's too risky," Alexis said.

Tim smiled tightly. "Yeah, I know. That's why it will work. Would _you_ expect it?"

Alexis looked at him...then, at Carew.

"No, I wouldn't," Carew said and he smiled. "Very well, Agent McGee. It's your neck you're risking."

"I know." _Finally, I'm risking my own life instead of someone else's._

"Give us two minutes to get into position and then you can head in."

With that, in one fluid movement, both Alexis and Carew stepped out of the car and melted into the darkness. It was four in the morning and Tim had been awake for nearly a full day...but he felt wide awake, adrenaline pumping through his veins. His heart was pounding in anticipation of his part.

Two minutes passed and he got out of the car, walking down the street in plain sight, not bothering to hide himself. He got to the driveway of the small house.

_No backing out now, Tim. You've made your decision. Now, you have to...hopefully, live with it._

He glanced to the side and got the thumbs up signal before one of his shadows disappeared again. That meant that the infrared was still registering warm bodies...moving bodies. Without acknowledging it, he walked up the sidewalk to the front door. He took another deep breath and knocked.

...then, he waited.

The door opened...and it seemed to take forever. In that endless moment, Tim saw past the man who opened the door to his friends tied up in the middle of the room. No cover for them, but no one in the way either. All the better. The man stared at him in confusion and those few seconds gave Tim the time he needed to discard the law-abiding computer geek and embrace the world without rules or consequences.

"Hi! I'm Timothy McGee. I understand you've been looking for me," he said brightly and then brought up his gun and shot the man in the face. Without hesitation, he moved into the room, over the body, keeping one eye on his friends and the other on the three surviving captors.

Another gunshot cracked and he mentally dropped it to two as the woman fell to the ground. His mind was clicking at a million miles per second and he saw, almost before it happened, the phone in the hand of one of the surviving men. He fired...at the man's hand and blew the phone to bits...to say nothing of the hand holding the phone. His scream momentarily pierced the wall Tim had built around his usual personality and the gun wobbled for just a second. That second was almost too long. Another shot took out the screaming man, but the one surviving member was aiming, not at him, but at the helpless trio in the middle of the room.

Tim saw it and in his mind he saw what the result would be, as if that possible future had occurred in the two seconds it took for him to make a decision. He covered the space between him and Ziva laying on the ground, Tony and Gibbs tied to chairs, all, he saw in that same moment, in varying states of injury...and he covered the space shouting, "No!"

Their guns fired at the exact same moment...and Tim smiled.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Tim smiled because the man fired and hit him...not Tony or Gibbs. ...and he was wearing a bulletproof vest. That meant that even as he was thrown back, chest on fire with the pain of having a bullet strike it, he knew he had accomplished both aims because _he _had not missed...and he had heard another bullet fly through the window. The man was dead. The four were dead...and the three were alive.

"McGee!"

Granted, he wasn't smiling when he hit the floor. That _hurt_ and the wind was knocked out of him, leaving him gasping for air and moaning in between gasps. Voices were meaningless babble for a couple of minutes as he tried to regain full use of his body.

"Agent McGee, how badly are you hit?"

"You!" Tony said in shock.

Tim would have smiled if he hadn't been hurting so badly...and if he didn't feel much the same way Tony did about the man who had just entered the room.

"Vest caught it," Tim gasped out. "I'm fine. He dead?"

"Yes. I think your shot killed him, although mine certainly helped." Carew ignored Tony, Gibbs and Ziva and walked to Tim, holding out his hand to help him up.

Tim took it and stood...but bent over almost double. He hoped if he ever got shot again that he'd just be dead and not have to feel it. This was painful.

"McGee...you...I don't..." Tony was sputtering as Alexis began to undo the ropes.

Tim was finally able to straighten and immediately knelt beside Ziva, not bothering to answer Tony. Right now, they didn't need to know how he'd managed to find them. Carew was on the phone, no doubt calling for a cleaning crew to come. His eyes were all on the cuts, the slashes, a livid burn on Ziva's arm. It made him ill.

"Why were they doing this?" he whispered.

Ziva just shook her head, but couldn't help moaning as Tim removed the cords around her wrists and ankles. Tears leaked from her eyes and Tim knew that she must be in a lot of pain to show that much.

"Agent Gibbs is suffering from a massive infection," Alexis reported. "Agent DiNozzo has minor internal bleeding as well as some tendon damage, and just looking at Officer David, I can see she is also in dire need of medical attention."

She was so dispassionate. She had been when giving him back his ability to speak, Tim remembered. It was how she always was...almost.

"Help is on the way," Carew reported. "We will have to be conspicuous by our absence, although I would not dream of suggesting that we leave before my team arrives. They will be sure to explain everything adequately."

Tim nodded. He looked at Tony and Gibbs...and then down at Ziva who was moving so little.

"This was about me, wasn't it."

"McGee..." Gibbs began, sounding...tired...old...sounding not like Gibbs.

"Wasn't it."

"Yeah, it was," Tony said. "They were torturing us for information about you."

"Tony...do not..." Ziva said and then broke off with a moan.

"Don't what, Ziva? Tell him the truth? How will that help?"

Tim nodded, stung by Tony's bitterness but understanding his need to get it out. The pain left as much anger as anything else.

"You don't need to tell him what he already knows, DiNozzo," Gibbs said wearily.

Something seemed to explode inside of Tony...and it all came out. "Does he know that we had to watch them torture Ziva?" he asked. He turned to Tim. "Did you _know_ that, Probie? Did you know that we were taken one at a time into a room and asked questions...about _you_...and that those of us who were outside the room had to listen to the screams? Did you know that Ziva's been tied up for three days and lugged around like a piece of garbage? Did you know that we sat here for _hours_ in silence while Ziva pleaded for them to stop hurting her...because we were trying to protect _you_? Did you know all of that, McGee?" He came to a stop, tears in his eyes, breath shaky.

Tim wanted nothing more than to burst into tears of remorse, of guilt...of an emotional pain at the physical pain he'd caused them. He wanted to beg their forgiveness. He wanted to apologize, to tell them how much he regretted their pain...but the words wouldn't come. He hid behind the mask...and hid his own emotional pain in the face of theirs which was much greater.

"No, Tony, I didn't know that," he said quietly. The pain in his chest was receding and he stood up on his own. "Were they getting ready to leave?"

"Yeah," Gibbs said dully. "I heard them. I'm sure we were going to be killed here before they moved on to...whatever they needed to do." He shivered. "Tony said they were excited about something."

Tim looked at Carew who nodded.

"Okay," Tim said. "We'll stay here until help arrives." He stood up and walked into the kitchen, found a supply of water and some food, although he hesitated giving them solid food when it was obvious they hadn't had any for a while. He grabbed the water bottles, however, and walked back into the room holding the evidence of what had happened because of him. He opened the bottles and gave one to Gibbs, one to Tony and then knelt beside Ziva again. Carefully, he held her in his arms and helped her drink. It was a sure sign of her debilitation that she did not protest the aid. Instead, she leaned against him, her eyes closed as he helped her slowly get back some of the moisture that had been lost in the days of torture. Inside, he was screaming, but the mask was firmly in place now and he could hold it back as long as he had to. He wasn't sure if this would lead to another breakdown, but he also knew that he couldn't tell them what he had been planning on telling them. Not when knowing nothing had brought them to this point.

"Thank you, McGee," Ziva whispered.

That somehow hurt more than Tony's harangue.

"Don't thank me," he said.

"McGee, this is–"

"Please, Ziva, don't thank me. Just don't."

She nodded and closed her eyes, sagging limply. It took another five minutes for Carew's team to arrive. He must have had them on standby...anticipating success? Or failure?

"Agent McGee?" Carew said.

Tim looked up and saw the anonymous agents, expertly evaluating Tony and Gibbs and looking questioningly at him. He nodded and gently released Ziva into their care.

"Where will you take them?" he asked.

"Bethesda. They're already waiting," said one of the agents.

"Thank you."

"Agent McGee," Carew said again.

Tim nodded. He looked at Tony and Gibbs. "I'll let them know that you're..." He faltered over a word that couldn't describe their current status less. "...that...where you are. Bye."

"Wait," Gibbs said, finally..._finally_ sounding more like himself. "...where are _you_ going, McGee?"

Tim tried to smile but didn't quite make it. "I have things to do."

"For how long?"

Again, Tim faltered. He had got himself through the last few days by thinking he was going to be able to tell his friends about what was going on...but he couldn't do that now...and he wasn't about to let Gibbs, of all people, know that he'd potentially signed his life away, but he also didn't want to lie.

"For as long as I have to."

Gibbs tried to get up, but he didn't make it. "McGee...remember what I said before all this started?"

"Yeah. I remember, Boss...and I told you I would if I could...but I can't...not now. I have to go." He walked to the door and then turned back. "You told me two years ago that you weren't a superhero, that you couldn't do everything, that I couldn't rely on you to get me through it. That's what this is, Boss. You can't help me now. I don't want you to help me." He paused and almost left, but then, he looked back once more. Tony wasn't looking at him. Ziva was probably unconscious. Gibbs was still staring at him. "I didn't secondguess myself this time, Boss."

It was possibly the hardest thing he'd ever done, but Tim turned around and followed Carew and Alexis out of the house, leaving behind some of the people he cared about the most...and not knowing if he'd ever see them again.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The car ride was silent for a few minutes. Tim wished it wasn't. He wished that either Carew or Alexis were speaking, saying something that would annoy him and distract him from the...double pain in his chest.

"I'll need to examine you, Agent McGee, once we get to the safe house," Alexis said.

Tim couldn't muster up any sarcastic retort. "Okay."

He saw her eyebrows raise at his capitulation, but she didn't comment.

"Even with a bulletproof vest, there can be extensive internal damage, particularly at the range you were at. There were other ways you could have taken to prevent him from firing."

Tim shrugged, although that aggravated the pain in his chest. "That one was foolproof. He was going to shoot one of them, but with me in the way, he wouldn't get that chance."

"It _was_ effective," Carew commented with his usual tone. "A bit risky, however."

"Why? You worried about losing the opportunity I've given you?" Tim asked, finding the energy for sarcasm.

"If you like."

"We're not going all the way back to Fredericksburg, are we?"

"No. There's no reason for that. There is a fine safe house in Arlington. When we get there, I'm going to insist that you get at least a couple of hours of sleep."

"I don't need sleep," Tim said, knowing he sounded petulant, but too hurt to care.

"Yes, you do. Right now, you are still in the adrenaline rush, but once it fades, you'll have blunted reactions...and those can be dangerous to the people around you. We don't want to endanger _other _lives, now do we?"

It took all his remaining energy not to wince at that rather pointed remark.

"No."

"The ache goes away after a few days," Carew commented mildly.

That left Tim in silence, wondering if Carew was aware of the double pain he was suffering and was commenting on both sources.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The safe house was...well, it was a house, and that was about all that could be said for it. It was definitely not as nice as some of the others. Tim looked around and then remembered he needed to make a call.

"I need your phone," he said.

Carew stared at him. It was amazing how someone whose face was generally described as blank or expressionless could express so much.

"It's a secure line I'm calling and it will take thirty seconds."

Carew nodded and handed him a cell phone.

Tim dialed the number Cynthia had given him what felt like a lifetime ago. He turned away from Carew toward the grimy window as the phone rang. It clicked over to the voice mail. Tim spoke. There was nothing in the codes Cynthia had given him to explain this.

"Cynthia...Gibbs, Tony and Ziva are currently on their way to Bethesda...it's bad, but I think they'll recover. I can't call everyone; so I hope you can let them know... I'm sure they'll want friends there with them. They were tortured."

He hung up and quickly handed the phone to Carew who pocketed it without a word. Then, he pointed at a stool.

"Have a seat."

"And take off your shirt," Alexis added. She pulled out a kit, ready to examine him. Tim pulled off his shirt, the vest and then his undershirt. A livid bruise had already formed on his chest.

"You're incredibly lucky, Agent McGee," Alexis said. "Any closer and that bullet could have penetrated. You're going to be sore for a while."

"Yeah, I figured that out myself."

"Well, no permanent damage from what I can tell, not even any broken ribs which can happen."

"Lucky me."

"There's a bed in there," Carew said, indicating the next room. "It will only be for a couple of hours; so I suggest you take advantage. This will more than likely be the last downtime you have...until this over at any rate."

The pause was all too ominous and Tim walked into the room with resignation, closing the door behind him. The walls were thin. The door didn't latch properly, but Tim didn't care much about that, particularly not when he heard both Alexis and Carew apparently bedding down themselves. He sat down on the rickety bed and wrapped his arms around his bare torso for a few seconds. Then, he rammed his fist into his mouth in an effort to muffle the sobs that came tearing from his throat. The tears coursed down his cheeks as he let out all the pain that had been building since he had gone into that house and seen the damage he had caused. His teeth broke through the skin on his knuckles as he tried to keep his sobs silent. It was hard to say which part of those few minutes had been the worst...Gibbs' incredible lassitude, Tony's anger, Ziva's pain...it was hard to say whose eyes had expressed more pain. Tony had come as close to crying as Tim had ever seen.

Suddenly, he tasted blood and drew his fist away from his mouth, staring at the small wounds he'd inflicted on his knuckle and the pointer finger on his right hand. He breathed as quietly as he could, knowing that he wouldn't be sleeping, knowing that none of that mattered. All he could see right now was the injuries inflicted on some of his closest friends, the people he spent more time with than anyone...and that association had created this situation. It was enough to make him feel ill. He knew that when morning came, he would have to put all this aside, but he also knew, from tragic experience, that pretending it didn't exist for too long led to trouble. So...alone, he let out all the emotional agony in the hopes that it would be enough to get him through whatever lay in his immediate future.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Cynthia came in that morning and saw a light flashing on the secure line she'd set up. She swallowed and listened to it. After hearing the message from Tim, she wasn't sure what worried her more: the pain-filled tone of Tim's voice, the fact that he wasn't yet coming back, or the obviously serious status of Gibbs, Tony and Ziva. Immediately, she called Jenny, knowing that no matter what she was doing, she would want to know that three people she had been forced to write off...for the greater good, of course...had been recovered.

Even as she did so, she wondered if it would be enough. One of the reasons she had left her previous employment was the pain of having to lose people...and knowing that no one would ever know the reasons for the loss. Tim was in that position now...and the rest of the team would have been in that position had Tim not gone AWOL to get them back.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

"How's Ziva?" Tony asked the doctor who was treating him.

"Who?"

"Ziva David. One of the other... torture victims brought in this morning," he said, striving for patience. No one had answered his questions at all, focused instead on making sure there were no other injuries on him that they had missed...and that made him afraid that Gibbs and Ziva had died.

"Oh, yes. I'm sorry, Agent DiNozzo, but I'm not the doctor in charge of her case...but I will go and find out for you."

"And Agent Gibbs...how is he?"

"Your other compatriot? He is currently in the ICU, being treated for septicemia. It appears that it was caught relatively quickly and we're hopeful that it won't turn septic."

"Can I see him?"

The doctor hesitated, but must have seen something in his eyes because he nodded. "Yes, I will get a nurse to take you. No, you may not walk there. Wait here and I will send a nurse with the information on Officer David...and a wheelchair."

Tony nodded and tried to relax, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to until he saw that Gibbs and Ziva were all right. A small part of his mind asked how he felt knowing that Tim wasn't there...that he had left, that his trouble wasn't over yet, but he pushed that thought away. He couldn't think about Tim without still feeling that anger...that pain. So he didn't think about it.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Jenny leaned back in her car in shock. She had just settled herself for the drive to NCIS when Cynthia had called. Now, she wanted nothing more than to tell her driver to head to Bethesda, but she knew that couldn't happen, not yet. She contented herself with calling Ducky and Abby, knowing that the two of them would briefly disappear from NCIS and that they could at least have a visual confirmation of Cynthia's message. Still, there was Tim...she closed her eyes in regret. That he was not yet coming in made her wonder just what Carew was making him do.

She was still in trouble for "letting him get away" although she hadn't admitted to it. Everyone knew she'd looked the other way, but seeing as there was no evidence of that fact, she wasn't being called to the carpet...yet. It wasn't a long time coming, however. Not even SecNav was supporting her in her latest escapade, although off the record he'd said he agreed with her. She didn't know how far it was going to go, but if she could do it, she was willing to go all the way. No one who had seen Tim's life in the last year could do anything else...and unfortunately, she was the only one who had.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Dr. Jackson Tobert desperately hoped that there was better news on Ziva David than there had been at the last update. He had seen the look in Tony's eyes before. He knew it could lead to much worse if she had taken a turn for the worst. The nerve damage was mercifully minor and they anticipated full recovery in her hands and feet, a small miracle based on the lacerations on her wrists and ankles. The internal bleeding would have been fatal had it not been treated as quickly as it had. The burn was bad, but small. He had seen enough of torture to know that much of the injury had caused pain without noticeable effects. However, she had needed surgery, particularly once the extent of her bleeding was known.

Thinking about those three, made him wonder just how it had happened, but his tenure at the Naval Hospital had taught him that sometimes one couldn't ask questions. He hoped they all made it but it was still possible that any one of them, including Tony, could take a sudden downturn. Tony's problems were probably mostly confined to psychological, but psychological problems could impact a patient's physical well-being.

He sighed. Nothing was ever simple when it came to cases like these.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim didn't sleep. He had known he wouldn't. No matter what Carew said about blunted reactions, he wasn't feeling it yet. He was as on edge now as he had been just before knocking on the door a few hours ago. His knuckle was still bleeding, but that was because he kept worrying at it. He would lay down and try to stop thinking and the next thing he knew, his left hand was bloody from rubbing at the place where he'd essentially gnawed at his own fist.

What would happen today? Having accomplished the one thing he felt needed to be done by him and him alone, he felt aimless. Even the prospect of mass casualties was not enough. If anything was blunted, it was his emotions. Part of him recognized that it was a reaction to the hurt, an attempt to keep it from increasing. Even so...he was still sitting on the bed, watching as the sky began to lighten. What would this new day bring? Would they manage to find the terrorists? Would they prevent them from setting off those bombs? Would what he had done adversely affect that mission? Could he forgive himself if it did?

He looked at his hand. It was bloody...again. He couldn't let Carew and Alexis see this. How long had it been? Long enough to come out pretending that he had slept? Even if it wasn't, the last thing he wanted was to showcase his mental anguish...least of all to them. With a sigh, he stood up and walked out of the room into the bathroom. He turned on the water and watched as the blood was diluted as it mixed with the water and then swirled down the drain. Would any of this be enough? Could it be enough?

_Enough for what?_ Tim asked himself...and the answer came. _Enough to make it worth living through it...and whatever comes after._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Who will we go and see first, Ducky?" Abby asked fretfully. "What if we go and see one and then the other two die? Maybe we should divide and conquer...but there's only two of us. Maybe..."

"Abigail, if the situation were that dire, I'm sure we would have been told. We will see who we are allowed to see and we will have the chance to see them all," Ducky said, his voice as calm as ever, a perfect foil to Abby's frenetic worry.

"How were they found?" she asked. "They disappeared in Montana. Director Shephard said we weren't even allowed to search for them. How did they get here?"

Ducky paused in his pace for a moment...and he knew, somehow, just how they had turned up in Bethesda. "That is an excellent question, Abigail. I think we should be sure to ask them." He hadn't yet told anyone what Tim had done in order to find them, and he was sure they wouldn't take it well. It still bothered _him_. He knew that Abby would have a meltdown.

"We are here to see three NCIS special agents who were brought in early this morning," Ducky said to the nurse on duty.

"Names?"

Abby took a deep breath and managed to sound only worried rather than frantic. "Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Anthony DiNozzo and Ziva David. Actually, Ziva is a Mossad liaison officer. Gibbs is the team leader and Tony is the senior field agent." She laughed. "He tells us that all the time. It's like he has to justify his presence or something...or he thinks we'll forget or..."

"What's their status?" Ducky asked, gently interrupting Abby with a hand around her waist.

The nurse smiled in sympathy. "Let me check for you. All right? Just wait here." She stood up and walked back through the doors.

"Wouldn't they have told us right away if it was all okay?" Abby asked.

"Just be patient, Abigail. They haven't been here long. Perhaps they are only now being settled in rooms."

He said the words, but his heart wasn't in them. Abby wasn't stupid and neither was he. It must have been serious. ...and Tim wasn't there with them.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"No sign of them being spooked," Thompson said.

"No sign of them at all," Xandra corrected. "You think he messed up?"

No question of who the _he_ was.

Amin answered before Lawrence could. "No. I don't. He wouldn't have messed up. If he had, he'd be dead...and they'd be calling."

There was a long pause.

"We just have to try and figure out where they are. They were still in Arlington at the last contact. McGee will get ahold of us if they don't show any activity in the next hour or two," Lawrence said. "We just have to find what we can...when we can."

"Will it be enough to stop them?"

"We can only hope."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Arlington, Virginia. Home to Arlington National Cemetery. Nearly 300,000 men and women of the armed forces from the Revolutionary War to Iraq and Afghanistan are interred there. Home to the USMC War Memorial, well-known for its depiction of the taking of Iwo Jima. Home to the Pentagon with over 25,000 employees. Home to the Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport, serving nearly 20 million customers per year.

Home to over 200,000 residents. People who woke up that morning knowing nothing more than that it was another day. Many worked within the bounds of Arlington. Others headed to Alexandria, to the District itself, to Bethesda. Mothers and fathers woke up their children trying desperately to get them to school on time...to the twenty elementary schools, five middle schools, four high schools located within the bounds of Arlington.

To the people in Arlington, it is another day. A day like any other. This is life proceeding at a normal pace, perhaps a little frenetic, but that is normal.

...but today is not a normal day.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

As they were escorted to the ICU, Abby couldn't help fretting about what they'd see. It was bad enough to be at work and have Ducky come into the lab to tell her that they were going to the hospital. It was bad enough that the team had been missing...and that some of it still was. It was bad enough...and now...what if it was worse?

Ducky and Abby stepped into the room and found Tony sitting in a wheelchair, staring out the window beside Gibbs, who was asleep and pale, receiving oxygen through a nasal cannula.

"Tony!" Abby said in abject relief. She kept her voice low, but she rushed to him and hugged him.

"Gently, Abbs. Gently," Tony said, but he returned the hug, the kind of physical contact he desperately needed to begin to dissipate the horrific experiences he'd had.

"Are you okay? Are you going to be okay? We were so worried. _I_ was so scared that I'd never see any of you again."

"I'll be okay," Tony whispered.

Abby released him, but was surprised when he held out a hand for her to hold. She smiled.

"What happened? How did you–? I mean, you guys disappeared in Montana. How did you get back here?"

Ducky noticed that Tony began clenching his teeth. His gaze fell on Gibbs.

"They found us in the...in the mine. They shot Gibbs and then hauled us around. They...they tortured Gibbs and me. Asking us questions about McGee."

"McGee?" Abby said. "Why?"

"They must have seen him there and not known anything about him. They saw us and put two and two together. Then...they...tortured Ziva, forcing us to watch them. Every time we wouldn't answer a question...they'd torture her again."

"Is she okay?" Abby asked in a small voice.

"I don't know. They won't tell me. She was in surgery...just got out, I think." He stopped talking for a few seconds. "They kept asking us questions...and I answered them. I told them what they wanted to know."

"You told them?" Ducky asked.

Tony's head dropped in shame. "Yeah. I did. I just wanted...Ziva was getting hurt right there...right then. McGee...they didn't have him. They might never have him. I couldn't just sit there and watch it happen...again and again."

"It's not your fault, Tony." The voice belonged, not to Ducky, but to Gibbs. His eyes were open...and mercifully clear. His voice was soft but without the pain that had colored his speech before.

"I told them. Then...McGee's the one who got us out, the one who saved us."

"Tim did?" Abby said in surprise. "Where is he, then?"

"He left...with Carew...and that other girl who tortured him before. They were helping him."

"Carew?!" Abby looked from Tony to Gibbs, begging him to say Tony was wrong.

"Yeah, he was there," Gibbs confirmed.

"And Timothy left with them?"

"Yeah."

"How are you feeling, Jethro?"

Gibbs smiled. "I've felt better...but I've felt worse."

"They're treating him for septicemia."

"But you'll be okay, right, Gibbs?" Abby asked.

Gibbs crooked a finger, gesturing her to come closer. When she was leaning over the bed, he reached up and kissed her on the cheek.

"I'll be okay."

She smiled, but there were tears in her eyes.

"Okay."

"Ziva?" he asked.

"She was in surgery. Don't know yet."

"And you haven't seen McGee?" Gibbs asked.

"No. Jenny called me to tell me of your whereabouts," Ducky said, still holding back what he knew.

That had brought the conversation back around to the thing Tony didn't want to talk about...but perversely, he did want to have them tell him he wasn't a complete jerk...even though he knew what he had said was wrong.

"He said he had something else to do."

A tense silence filled the room for a few minutes. Gibbs closed his eyes again and Abby looked like she just wanted to hug both Tony and Gibbs, but her arms weren't long enough.

"I think he just wanted to get away from what I said," Tony confessed, breaking the silence.

"What did you say?" Ducky asked.

"I said it was his fault. Not in so many words...in more actually." Tony could feel the tears he hadn't shed a few hours ago. "I was so mad that he was standing there...looking fine...and Ziva was lying on the floor, maybe dying, because...because I was trying to keep _McGee_ safe. I said it was all because of him."

"He won't blame you for that, Tony," Abby said. "You know he won't. You'd been _tortured_. Of course, you would say things you didn't mean."

"I meant them then...and I'm still angry now...but that's not what bothers me."

"What does? Timothy will forgive you, I'm sure."

"I know...but I think I...made it harder for him to forgive himself..." Then, down fell the tears. "...and...that's something I never should have done."

Abby decided who needed the hug...and wrapped her arms around Tony once more.

Ducky hesitated, wondering if it would cause more hurt if he told what he knew. He felt Gibbs' eyes on him, but before he could speak, Ducky shook his head, forestalling the question. Telling them now that Tim had made a deal with the man he hated most in the world in order to save the team would do more harm than good.

From the comfort of Abby's embrace, Tony swore. "This really sucks."

"Yeah, I have to agree, Tony," Abby said. "But, maybe this is as bad it's going to get. All uphill from here!"

"Don't you mean downhill?"

"No, I mean uphill. Downhill might seem easier, but it's murder on your joints!"

Tony laughed, but he didn't let Abby go and her expression was more concerned than joking as she looked at Ducky.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Agent McGee, you continually amaze me in your ability to ignore sound advice."

Tim didn't bother to answer. He was back in control of himself and working with the cell phones they had taken from the...here his mind faltered, remembering how coldly he'd been as he shot three people, one in the face, one in the hand and one...he didn't even know where he'd shot that last one. The cellphones. They had only one number in the call history. He was in the process of forwarding all the information he could find to Lawrence. Would it be enough?

_Enough. Enough. Alexis is right. It's never enough._

"What's our next move?"

"We find their position, using what we know about the phone they're using. Most phones have a GPS chip, now, but even if they don't, we can use GSM localization by figuring out where they are via the cell towers around them. The signal strength from their phone will be more or less depending on their proximity."

"What if the phone is off?"

"Depends on how new the phone is. If it's new enough, the phone will automatically shift from tower to tower as the phone is in transit, even if the phone is off. The signal will still be exchanged. Besides that, the FCC requires that mobile phone services have the ability to pinpoint the location of a mobile phone user within 300 meters for the purposes of 911 calls."

"We're not exactly 911, in case you've forgotten," Alexis said sarcastically from behind him.

"I know. We're supposed to have a warrant to do this, but seeing as I'm currently on the run and you're covertly helping me out, I don't think we'll be able to justify this to the courts. So, I'm going to do what I can."

"Illegally."

"Yes."

"You can justify this to yourself, Agent McGee?"

Tim didn't answer. At this point, he couldn't think about justification. He could only do the work. Following the rules had led to his friends nearly being killed. The numbers could only distract him now.

"What if you can't track with the phone off?" Carew asked.

"Then, we have to decide how big a risk we're willing to take."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, that we could try to call them, using the phones we took and when they answer, we could pinpoint their position, but it would pretty obvious that we're not the people they want to talk to."

"How long will it take to find out?"

"Not long...if you leave me alone and let me work."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"All right. Let's go," Lawrence said, standing up from the computer.

"What is it?"

"We've got a narrowed position of the cell phone used by our friendly neighborhood terrorists, and it's going to need time."

"Where are we going?" Amin asked.

"An area of Arlington...about the worst in terms of finding someone. It's called Crystal City."

"Oh, no. Not there," Sam groaned.

"What's so bad about Crystal City? Besides the fact that it sounds like something out of the _Wizard of Oz_?" Xandra asked.

"It's all condos and underground shops," Lawrence explained. "McGee was only able to get the area down to about 300 meters. That covers the high rises, plus the lower-levels. It was the best he could do for now."

"For now?"

"He suggested calling them and getting the phone actively pinging the towers, but that's obviously dangerous."

"So...how are we going to find them?"

"With luck. Let's go. We're definitely not going to find them sitting around here."

"Right."

With practiced ease, they gathered up their equipment and left the hotel room. Lawrence spent a moment wishing that Sam..._Samu_, he thought in his head, _I'll never be able to think of them any other way._ Sam was a genius with tracking...urban or rural and not knowing if he was injured or dead was hard, especially as the team leader. The other Sam seemed out of sorts without him to argue with. With an inward sigh, he pushed the thought away. They had a job to do now...if only they could.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ziva's eyes opened but she was vaguely annoyed that they weren't deigning to show her reality. Instead, things were bright blotches...and the world wasn't really that way...at least, not the last time she'd checked. She closed her eyes again.

"Ziva?"

That was a voice she knew. Now, which was it? Thinking of that, where exactly was she? Israel? No, that didn't seem right. England? No, although the voice would fit in there...ah...

"Ducky." She opened her eyes again and was heartened that things were clearing up.

"Yes, my dear. I'm glad you've decided to rejoin us. It's been a long wait."

"How long?" she asked, now afraid that something bad had happened...worse than being tortured.

"Oh, no worries on that score. Only a few hours, but a few hours longer than we would have liked to see. The doctors had to force Tony to rest."

"Tony was here?"

"Yes. Jethro would have been, but he is currently in the ICU."

"Where am I?"

"Recovering. Recovering from your surgery which was touch and go, I will admit...now that it is no longer the case."

Ziva opened her eyes again and Ducky was there. Her eyes roamed around and she was aware of pains on numerous areas of her body.

"I was tortured."

"Yes, my dear, and you would have died had you not received swift medical attention."

"But now?"

"Now...now, you are recovering. You will be doing nothing taxing for many days yet, but you all should recover."

She felt Ducky's hand holding hers and unconsciously, she squeezed it weakly...and remembered sitting with Tim, the positions reversed, holding his hand as he screamed in terror at the nightmare only he could see. Tim...

"...is McGee here?"

"No. He is not." The tone was too concerned for Ziva to miss it, even in her current condition.

"Where is he?"

"You don't remember?"

She tried to sit up. "Is he dead?"

Ducky spared a hand to keep her down. "No. No, now relax. Director Carew and one of his agents were with Timothy when he saved you and he left with them after help arrived. He has not yet returned."

"Carew has him again?"

"I don't know." Again, Ducky lied.

"What now?"

"Now, you must rest. You can do nothing at the moment except recover. That will help Timothy beyond measure when he returns."

"If he returns...Tony..."

"Tony was trying to save you."

"He was trying to save himself."

"No, my dear. No, the pain to him was great, but he could not bear the pain you were suffering. He was weighing the cost between two of his friends, one in definite danger and one in only theoretical danger."

Ziva closed her eyes, knowing that Ducky was right, but hating the way she'd been used. It was easier to blame. She felt a cool hand on her forehead.

"Just rest, Ziva. As Abigail said, it's all uphill from here."

Ziva smiled tiredly, and allowed herself to fall back into the painless sleep that would help her heal.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"This is a huge area to search, Agent McGee. How much do you really think we can do on our own?" Carew said as they stood in front of one of the many buildings.

Tim looked over his shoulder and saw Lawrence...and he almost smiled.

"Well, Tim, you're looking a little worse for the wear," Amin commented as they approached.

"That's what happens when the world falls in on you."

"You got your team out?"

He nodded but didn't elaborate and they all had the sense not to ask.

"Isn't there any way to narrow it down, McGee?" Xandra asked.

"Do _you_ know any way without them actually using their phones, Xandra?" Tim retorted.

"No. You're the all-mighty computer guru."

Tim rolled his eyes. "I'm not a miracle worker...and the one thing I know that _could_ do it...doesn't exist and there's no way I'm going to be able to create it in a couple of hours...or even a couple of days." Everyone looked at him for just long enough that his frayed nerves...frayed a little more. "Will you all stop looking at me as if I have the answers? _You're_ the ones who have experience with this sort of thing. I'm just a computer geek!" His voice rose dangerously, attracting the attention of a couple of passers-by. "What do _you_ think we should do?"

Amin grabbed him by the arm and steered him to a nearby bench. "Calm down, Tim. Sit."

Tim did so, dropping his head...mainly out of embarrassment. He didn't like losing control in front of other people...particularly not _these_ people. Then, an idea hit him, born out of desperation.

"There's a way...to get more help."

"What's that?"

He looked up at them, knowing that his face was still flushed with embarrassment. He pointed across the river. "You've got your CIA teams on standby, don't you?" he asked Carew.

"Yes."

"The FBI is looking for _me_. They'll have to have at least one or two teams ready...to take me into protective custody. The NSA is _made_ for eavesdropping."

"Not on US citizens."

Tim scoffed. "Yeah...well, maybe not always, but I've used what they have...and they do have the capabilities to eavesdrop on US citizens. They can turn their ears onto this area. The federal agencies never agree on anything, but this time...I think just maybe they might care about stopping another 9/11. Don't you?"

"We're not exactly official people, you know, McGee. We're not supposed to call attention to ourselves...especially not to official people," Lawrence said.

"Your point? I'll make the calls. Give me a phone and I'll make the calls myself. It's not like I have much to lose. This is more important than any one of us. More important than secrecy. Do you know how many people live and work in this area? We don't even know if they've managed to place any of their bombs already. You said it yourself. We can't do it with only eight of us. It's impossible...unless we're lucky."

There was still resistance, and Tim stood up again, his own emotional stability was swiftly departing but he struggled to maintain control.

"What other choice do we have?" he asked.

"None," Carew said, finally. "I'll call in my teams. Alexis, give him your cell phone, would you?"

Alexis tossed it to Tim. He nodded and looked at Lawrence. "Well?"

Lawrence looked at his team and laughed. "Paranoia and distrust are part of how we live, but you're right, McGee. This time, we'll have to trust someone outside of our little group. Mobilize the troops...quietly."

"Right." Tim began to dial numbers that he'd long ago committed to memory...but never used. Something had to be done and this was it...even if it led to him getting appropriated permanently.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was probably the largest mustering of federal agents in years...especially considering none of them operated openly. The urban village of Crystal City was swarming with agents from the CIA, FBI, DHS, and a number of smaller agencies within the Department of Defense. If it seemed odd to any of the scrambled agents to be sent to Crystal City in Arlington, they didn't show it. What the NSA thought of the request to focus their attention on the small county...who knows. They agreed to the request, using their extensive intelligence-gathering capabilities to forward even the smallest whisper of the people being sought.

Only a small number of agents knew just who had been responsible for calling them out there. They had a double responsibility...but Timothy McGee was nowhere to be seen...and among the large number of agents, the larger number of residents, it was nearly impossible to conduct a real search for him. In the face of what could happen, they didn't spend much time looking... Fornell was on the lookout, but for a different reason. He wanted to know that Tim was actually okay. He had his doubts.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"They're looking for you, you know," Carew said as they climbed the stairs to a likely apartment in one of the buildings.

"I know...but not very hard."

"What will you do if they find you?"

Tim didn't want to think about this...not right now...and not with a man who had just as much, if not more, control over his future. He simply shrugged and pulled out the tracker. A number of explosives had already been found and dismantled around the village. They were connected to each other via cell phone, without complex circuits. The bombs were supposed to explode when the signal was sent. The terrorists were working with the idea of the merits of surprise. No one expected this. The bombs were well-concealed, but with such a concentrated effort to find them, it was inevitable that they'd be discovered. The agents had not, however, discovered the base of operations.

Then, the phone in Tim's pocket began to ring. It was not his phone...

"They're calling," he whispered and pulled it out. Immediately, he tossed it to Carew and dropped to his knees, the tracker in his hands, checking the location. "We're off a floor. They're down one."

Carew nodded and gestured to Alexis who disappeared down the hall as the phone stopped ringing. Tim stood up and began to walk toward the stairs. He stopped. "Right below me here."

They ran down the stairs and into the hall. Lawrence and his team were already in position.

"Wait," Tim said softly, holding up a hand.

"What?"

"The phone is in use again. Who are they calling? Let me track the numbers first." He typed in and got some locations, showing them to Lawrence before forwarding them to the NSA who would then disseminate them to the appropriate people.

"Ready?"

"Yeah." Tim stood and drew his gun. They counted silently and burst into the apartment...which caused them to pause in shock. It was wired with enough explosives to cause the entire building to collapse. There was one man in the room. He stared at them in mild surprise for half a second before Lawrence shot him. He was dead before he hit the floor. Instantly, they all fanned out, running through the rest of the apartment. No one else was there.

"We have to evacuate the building," Thompson said. "There's no telling when this could go off. We didn't get them all. This isn't the base of operations."

Tim's heart sank, but he nodded and looked at the fire alarm out in the hallway. He jerked his head toward it.

"Worth a try?"

Carew nodded. "Best chance of getting them out on time...if they pay attention, of course."

Tim ran to the hall and pulled the alarm. Then, he walked back to the apartment and looked at the wired explosives around him, wondering why he wasn't more afraid of the fact that if these explosives went off, he'd be dead...probably before he had time to realize that he was dead.

"Here's the trigger," Lawrence said and knelt in one corner. He began the process of defusing the bomb, and no one moved, knowing that they wouldn't get out on time anyway should he make a fatal error. There were faint sounds of people evacuating which was a relief.

Five tense minutes later, Lawrence stood up, the cell phone in his hand. "Got it. Why don't we get out with everyone else, now?"

"Gladly," Xandra said and led the way. They were the last ones out of the building, but as they reached the lobby, there was a ringtone that was familiar. Carew pulled the phone Tim had given him out of his pocket, but it was silent. Then, Tim happened to look back, noticing that the sound was coming from beyond their group. His eyes went wide and he gestured.

"There! There's another bomb!" He shoved at them as they all began to run without a moment's hesitation. Tim's pause left him at the back of the group as they streamed out of the building and so he didn't quite have time to get to shelter as the secondary bomb went off in the lobby near the elevator. At the same time, he vaguely noticed other minor explosions around the complex of condos, but those external stimuli faded in the face of what happened. He felt the shock wave hit him from behind and drive him to the ground in a surge of heat and pain.

It was a relief when his head hit the concrete.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

There were screams in the distance and a babble of voices close by. He could hear sirens and feel...

He groaned and then whimpered as someone touched his back, shifting his position away from the physical contact.

"We have to get him out of here. Now."

"He needs a hospital."

"He can't go to a hospital."

"Are you nuts? Look at him!"

He opened an eye and saw feet near his face, felt someone touch his back again and his whimper turned into a scream and he flinched away from the touch.

"If we take him to a hospital, they'll find him and he'll disappear. He doesn't want that."

"Does he want to _live_?"

There was a few seconds of silence.

"It's worth the risk."

"I think this is a bad idea."

"So noted. I'll be sure to let him know you think so. Now, if you could help move him?"

"Amin."

"Got him."

The foot became a knee.

"Tim, we're going to move you to the van, okay? It's going to hurt, but we'll be as gentle as we can."

That was all the warning before his skin stretched painfully and he moaned at the increased pressure on his injured back. Then, he was being jolted painfully this way and that and his moans increased in volume...until they had to stop moving.

"We could take him with us."

"My agent has medical training. You have your own wounded to care for."

"I'll be all right."

"You can barely stand...and you have shrapnel to deal with. You can't be found out. I already know that. I am going to forget I even saw you after we leave here. I can be found. Even Agent McGee can be found as far as that goes...but he won't be if you get him into the car and let us get him away from here."

"Do you think he'd agree?"

"We have unfinished business. He knows that. He'd agree."

It was at this point that Tim really just wanted them to put him down. He didn't care where or with whom. He reached out a trembling hand and grabbed the nearest person, pulling them down to his level.

"It's okay," he breathed.

"Are you sure?"

"It's okay." Those words were the extent of his ability to speak coherently.

Then, movement started again and he had to bite his lip to hold back the screaming he wanted to do. They made it to a car and he was gently laid on the seat.

"This is where we go our separate ways. You're not as much of a prick as I thought you were, Carew."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Are you sure that..."

"Yes. We will keep him alive and free. I have a vested interest in doing so."

Then, the door closed...another door opened...and another. The car started and pulled away from the chaos. Tim kept his eyes closed. It made it easier to deal with the pain if he didn't have to deal with nausea as well. There was a bump and a sudden increase in speed that pressed his back against the seat.

He screamed and passed out, glad of the release.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_Ducky, have you had a chance to watch the news yet?"_

Ducky looked at Tony, who was finally sleeping, and let himself out of the room.

"No, why?"

"_Don't let them see. It's all over the news stations and will probably be making the rounds."_

"What is it?"

"_There was a series of minor explosions throughout Arlington, none caused serious damage, but there were some injuries...and a large number of arrests...from various federal agencies."_

"You think that Timothy was involved?"

"_Yes...and what's being bandied about wouldn't help Gibbs and Tony and Ziva. They'll be able to put it all together... and they don't need to know about it...not yet."_

"I agree, but keeping big news from them..."

"_I know. Don't try too hard, just whatever you can do."_

"No sign of our missing comrade?"

"_No."_ There was a long sigh. _"Ducky...maybe I've gone about this all wrong. This is not the way things were supposed to go."_

"Things rarely go as we plan. You did not cause Timothy's status."

"_I didn't prevent it, either."_

"No...but based on what little I know, it was not your doing."

"_If I had defied my orders, he wouldn't have sold his soul to the devil."_

Ducky couldn't help smiling at the dramatic description. "Carew is hardly the devil, no matter how much we might dislike him."

Jenny's voice was serious. _"Perhaps not, but I know how much he hated even the idea of having to interact with the CIA in any way. He would never have done this if he could have seen any other option. He was acting out of desperation and guilt. I know the feeling far too well."_

"All is not yet lost. I refuse to give up hope."

"_Give me some of your optimism, Ducky. I'm feeling in need."_

"Come to the hospital and I'll do my best."

"_The chaos has enveloped me as well as the rest of the federal agencies. I'm not sure when they'll let me leave. Maybe they'll just fire me."_

"Don't sound so hopeful, my dear. I thought this is what you wanted."

"_That was before...all this."_ She sighed deeply._ "I'll try to get there before visiting hours are over."_

"Good luck, Jenny."

"_Thank you, Ducky."_

The phone clicked, leaving Ducky standing alone in the hallway. He looked back toward Tony's room. The injured agent was still beating himself up about what he'd said...perhaps not to the extent that Tim was blaming himself, but that was mainly due to differences in temperament and experience. At one time, it would have been Tim who would have had the lesser amount of guilt for causing injury, even indirectly, but these last two years had changed that. The things Tim had done to save his own life and the lives of others had given him a degree of latent guilt that might never truly be eased.

"Ducky?"

He turned around.

"Anything the matter, Abigail?" he asked, forcing a smile onto his face. He agreed with Jenny that making Tim's desperate deal known would not help...and that included Abby.

Abby shook her head, her pigtails nearly smacking her in the face.

"I have to go back to NCIS. Lovitz has some stuff for me to do."

"Yes, I see. I have responsibilities as well."

"I hate to leave them here. Everything they went through. They shouldn't be alone. _Where's _Tim?" she burst out. "How could he leave us here, not knowing where he is? How could he just _leave_? Why isn't he here helping?"

"Abigail, I'm sure that Timothy had a very good reason for leaving," Ducky said firmly. "It will do no good to blame him for that. Now, I will go in and tell Tony we have to get to work and then we can leave. All right?"

Abby sighed and bit her lip. "Yeah, all right. I just hate this. It's like the team is getting fractured...and I'm afraid it won't get put back together again."

Ducky was privately fearing the same thing.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim awoke again with a strange sort of dimness descending. It took him a few moments to realize that it was a garage door closing. He let his eyes close again, feeling the burning pain on his back increasing with his rising consciousness. The voices he could hear were not the ones he wished he could hear.

"There's not enough room to carry him inside."

"Well, then, we'll just have to wake him and make him walk."

"If he can." Those words were muttered.

Tim himself wondered if he could.

"He will be able to. Agent McGee, we do need your help to get inside."

Tim mumbled incoherently in reply.

"Very good."

A blanket was draped over his back and then he was pulled unceremoniously to the door. The supporting arm was low around his waist, but there was no way to avoid the pressure on his injuries. Black spots flickered in his vision and he sagged in Carew's grip.

"You can collapse inside, Agent McGee. No sooner."

There was no way of arguing with that; so Tim struggled to walk. He wondered why his legs were having so much difficulty supporting him when it was his back that hurt. Then, he wondered if he was paralyzed...but no. He wasn't...because he could most definitely feel the damage. If he concentrated, he could even feel the minor abrasions on his knees and thighs from being thrown to the ground. Why he was concentrating on feeling more pain was beyond his ability to comprehend but he was glad to know that he wasn't paralyzed at any rate.

Steps. He'd forgotten how to lift his feet and he nearly took them both down as he tried to manage them. To his credit, Carew said nothing, but did grunt with the effort of keeping them both upright.

"Put him face down here. It has the best light and I'll need light. Get the kit."

With surprising gentleness, he was placed on a bed. Not a bad mattress, he decided...but then, the mattress disappeared from his concerns as the blanket was removed, causing a long moan of pain that he couldn't repress.

"Battlefield medicine. I hate doing this...especially when there are perfectly good hospitals all around."

"Hardly all around, but I have worse news. Whoever was here last was remiss in resupplying."

"What?"

Carew's voice was nearly didactic as he explained that the emergency medicine kit had not been replenished.

"Aspirin? They left aspirin and didn't put in any of the anesthetic? Please tell me there are antiseptics in there."

"Oh, yes...but you will have to make do without the aid of painkillers."

Tim didn't like the sound of that. It was rather reminiscent of the last time he'd been doctored by Alexis.

"Great. Just great. Who was here last time?"

"Rest assured that I will find out. In the meantime, you had better get started."

"Just like that?"

"Unless you'd rather wait until I can scrounge some from a nearby hospital."

The sigh was one of frustration, not concern for her patient. Then, she was leaning over him.

"Agent McGee, this is going to hurt. A lot."

Finally, Tim found that he could say something.

"Thass wha you alwayssay," he mumbled.

"Well, it's true."

"Jus...jus' do it. No good waiting."

"All right. Your choice."

She began to cut his shirt off causing him to moan again as the material pulled dried blood away from his back.

"If you can manage to pass out, it would be better for both of us."

"Try...to oblige."

"Good. You do that."

Unfortunately, despite all the will in the world, Tim couldn't make himself pass out. He felt every jab as she carefully cleaned away the blood from his back. The pain was only intensified by the fact that pieces of metal and glass were embedded in his back. Every so often, whatever she was using to clean him would catch and tear the skin a little more. When that happened, Tim couldn't help screaming and holding tightly to the bed frame.

Alexis said nothing as she worked. Not that anything she could have said would have made him feel any better. He figured there was a very good reason why she wasn't a regular doctor. No bedside manner at all. The antiseptic burned in his lacerations and it was all he could do not to writhe away from her ministrations. After all, he had insisted they just get started.

Finally, as she removed one of the larger pieces, it was too much for his already overtaxed body and he followed her advice.

He passed out.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Thank heavens. He wasn't making this easy," Alexis muttered as Tim's body relaxed into unconsciousness.

"I don't think he was doing it to spite you."

"He should have run faster."

"He wasn't the only one to get hit."

"No, but he got a full shot. It would have been worse if it hadn't been for that fence. No one else got that."

"He's also the one who found the bomb," Carew noted drily.

Alexis began sewing up one of the larger wounds. "I guess you're going to say that it was because of some elusive and unidentifiable quality that Agent McGee has which allowed him to find it."

"No. Actually, I think it was pure dumb luck. He happened to be at the back of the group and he happened to know what the ringtone was. Anyone else in his position would have found it."

"I'm beginning to think that you actually like him."

"Why would you say that?"

"You always talk like you're such an authority."

"If I liked him as much as you seem to think I do, I would hardly put him in your unsympathetic, albeit capable hands."

Alexis rolled her eyes. "You...and he are just lucky I can do this at all. It's ridiculous that I'm supposed to deal with this type of injury without proper tools."

"How bad is it?"

"Not as bad as it could have been...but bad enough that it's going to take me a while."

"Well, do your best. I want him in as good a shape as possible."

"So you can use him?"

"We have a deal. I don't back out on deals, no matter in whose favor they happen to be."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony got permission to visit Ziva and did so with trepidation. He was afraid to see what state she was in and he was afraid that if she was conscious at all she'd kill him for what he'd done.

She was asleep when he got to her room.

"Do you mind if I stay? Just for a while," he whispered.

"Not for long, Agent DiNozzo," the nurse said. "You're still recovering, too, remember."

"Yeah. I remember."

She smiled kindly and left the room. Tony looked at Ziva. She seemed better than she had been before, but she was still asleep...for now. He settled back to wait. What he had to say, what he had to ask, it needed her awake. He wasn't going to be a wuss and talk to her in her sleep.

Ziva's eyes opened about ten minutes later and she seemed a bit confused by her surroundings for a few seconds before her eyes fixed on Tony. Her mind was ambivalent about his presence. It showed in her eyes.

"Hey, Ziva."

"How are you feeling, Tony?" she asked.

"Okay. You?"

"I will not be able to kill you for a few days yet. You have time to change my mind." Her voice was weak, but firm.

"Would begging for your forgiveness help?" he asked, searching for some lightening of her expression that would allow him to smile.

"I do not know. You should try and find out."

"I'm sorry, Ziva. I really am. The things I did...honestly, I just couldn't stand to see them hurt you."

"That is why they did it, you know."

"I know." Tony looked at the wheels of his chair. "I know...and I did what they wanted."

"Yes. Yes, you did. Are you sure it was for me?"

Tony looked up. "Yes. I know you said for me to say nothing, but Ziva, I swear...I swear I was _not_ thinking of myself when I told them what they wanted to know. I swear."

This time, Ziva looked away. "I know, Tony. I could see it in your eyes. In Gibbs' eyes as well."

"He didn't speak."

"Only because you beat him to it. He would not have lasted long." She paused. "I do not like the idea of being a puppet...a tool...a means for hurting others. I know you were hurt by my pain. I could not hold it in, although I tried."

"It wasn't your fault, Ziva. We both knew exactly what you were going through...because it was the same things they did to us."

"Yes. They were very good at their jobs."

"Yeah."

Up to this point, they had been separated by more than just the railing on Ziva's bed. They were both hurting and blaming their hurt on each other. Now, Ziva held out her hand. Tony took it with a hesitancy that was foreign to him. There would be no hugging because she was not able to tolerate that kind of contact, but they held hands tightly. Tony wheeled himself closer to the bed and they sat in silence, wishing for more, but content with what they had.

A small measure of healing could begin.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Done," Alexis announced as she dropped one last piece of metal into the bowl that was half full of bits of shrapnel. She bandaged the wound and stepped back to stare at her handiwork. It was not the most beautiful she'd ever done, but it was easily the most involved she had done...and not had her patient die.

Tim was still unconscious, his face showing the strain his body had been under. It was drawn and pale. These injuries could still result in dangerous infection or some sort of delayed shock to his system, but for now, he was as good as he was going to get until they had the chance to get some more medical equipment.

"What _does_ he want with you, Agent McGee?" she asked.

Tim didn't answer, of course, but then, even if he had been conscious, he wouldn't have been able to. Carew had raised being covert to an art form and never said anything that he didn't need to say. She shrugged to herself and went about cleaning up the room. When Carew returned, they'd need to change the bedding. There was a lot of blood on the sheets right now. Until then, she draped his back with a clean dry cloth. Better to keep away any dust that might infect the all-too-numerous wounds.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"All right, Cynthia, I'm heading out," Jenny said, tiredly. It was nearly midnight. "You don't have to stay."

"I know."

"Any word?"

Regretfully, Cynthia shook her head. There was no blinking light.

Jenny sighed. "Fornell said that he didn't see any sign of him in Arlington, but I'll bet he was there."

"I'm sure he was."

"I just hope that no sign is a good sign."

Cynthia couldn't answer that one positively...not and be honest. With black ops, it was much too easy to imagine as dire results with no evidence as with the presence of a body. Jenny knew that and she sighed again.

"Good night, Cynthia."

"Good night, ma'am."

She wouldn't stay much longer, but as she worked, Cynthia couldn't help looking over at the light, waiting for it to blink red again.

It never did.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

Two days passed. There was no sign of Tim...and no sign of Director Carew either. He had apparently been reporting into Headquarters, but no one had seen him for nearly a week. It was becoming extremely worrisome for those in high places who were struggling to explain to the public at large what had happened, why and how. No fewer than ten small explosions had occurred within the boundaries of Arlington. Five people had been arrested. And now the politicians had to explain why it had happened, who had done it...and why they hadn't prevented it. For the public, as usual, was blessed with the ability to think that their leaders were both omniscient and stupid at exactly the same time. It was an ability usually confined to college students, but occasionally leaked off of college campuses and infected the rest of the population as well.

The problem was that the public couldn't know the real story. They couldn't know that a regular US citizen had sounded the alarm...nor could they know exactly _why_ that regular US citizen had been in a position to do so. That left the need for plausible deniability and some good PR.

At the same time, a search was being conducted to _find_ Timothy McGee and make sure that he was "safe." ...safe from whom was never actually mentioned.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim opened his eyes and found that he was staring at some rather dull-colored sheets. There was a nasty taste in his mouth and when he started to turn so that he might get a better view, his back erupted in pain. He moaned.

"I wouldn't roll onto my back, if I were you."

That voice was familiar...and not one he really wanted to hear. He rolled to his side and shifted his eyes to the doorway.

"Oh...you," he groaned faintly and closed his eyes again, trying to will the ache away.

"Yes. Me...and you'll regret it if you roll onto your back. I promise."

Tim groaned again. "I kind of figured that out by myself, thank you." He paused, and thought idly over what had led to his current position. "There was an explosion?"

"Yeah...a few."

Tim opened his eyes. He stared at Alexis with a growing sense of horror. "What? I only remember the one. How many?"

"Total was ten, all minor, scattered throughout Arlington. They must not have had enough time to place the larger charges. The only place with the larger amounts of explosives was in Crystal City and their base of operations. They got all those. FBI and DHS agents arrested the major players, but not before they set off the bombs already wired. They found the base of operations and were able to track the placement. About fifteen were disarmed before the rest were detonated."

"Did...did anyone die?"

"Only two. A jogger near the Iwo Jima Memorial and one of the agents. The signal was sent when he was right on top of the bomb. Quite a few injuries but most of them weren't serious. Not bad results, all things considered, no major structural damage."

Tim shook his head. "Try telling that to the families of the two who died."

"I won't have to...and it was a better result than we would have had otherwise. I can be happy about that."

"Bully for you."

"Should I chalk this attitude up to your irrational hatred of me or should I attribute it to your lack of painkillers?"

"I don't think it's irrational to hate one's torturer."

Alexis shrugged. "Regardless..."

Tim blinked a few times. "Probably equal parts of both."

He heard a humorless laugh.

"You have painkillers?" he asked, willing to beg for them if she became difficult.

"Yes. We gave some to you yesterday when you woke up."

"I woke up...yesterday? Wait." Tim tried to push himself up but the burning pain nixed that idea. "Wait..." he tried again. "How long have I been out?"

"You've regained consciousness off and on a number of times over the past two days. We've been letting you sleep. It's easier."

"For whom?"

"All of us," she said drily.

Tim considered that and had to admit that being in their company was much easier when he was unconscious. Still...

"You kept me out for two days?"

"You have somewhere else you need to be?" she asked.

Tim thought about Gibbs, Tony and Ziva...in the hospital...or worse. He thought of Abby and Ducky and Jimmy at NCIS, about Jenny and Cynthia who, alone of all of them, knew what was going on. ...and he thought of what he had done to all of them.

"No. Nowhere. Can I have more of the painkillers, please?"

Alexis didn't answer, but she moved out of his line of sight and was back with a needle. In minutes, he felt things start to go fuzzy again...and he was grateful. He didn't want to think about everything he'd done and the consequences of his actions. He didn't fight the sedation. He embraced it and the oblivion carried with it.

"He out again?" Carew asked.

"Yeah. Just barely. Thankfully, he didn't fight them. I need to change his dressings and I don't want to deal with his flinching."

"Good. How much longer?"

With practiced ease, Alexis turned Tim onto his stomach and removed the loose drape from his back. She spoke as she began to removed the bandages. "I estimate he should have at least another 24 hours before he's able to tolerate being up and around. I assume that's what you're going for?"

"Yes. I can stall for another day. Let me know."

"What if they fire you for your delinquency?" she shot at him as he walked away again.

"They won't."

"Why? Because you're indispensable?"

"No. Because, as I told you before, I don't back out on deals...no matter whom they benefit." He turned back and smiled. "Don't imagine that Agent McGee is the first person to make a deal with me." He walked away.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Now, Agent DiNozzo, this is the information for the psychiatrist. I have it on very good authority that you will not be allowed back to work until you speak to him," the doctor said sternly. "That means that you have to go. Also, you're being released, but I expect you to take it easy for the next few days."

"I've already been laying around for two days," Tony grumbled. "Isn't that enough?"

"Considering what happened to you? Absolutely not."

"Oh, stop whining, Tony," Abby said lightly. "You never want to be at work. When you're there all you talk about is getting away from it...on a hot date or something else."

"Well, I can't complain if I'm not there."

"You'll have some last forms to sign before you go, but..."

"Oh, I hate insurance forms," Tony said, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

"No, your insurance isn't covering this. It's all been taken care of already."

"By whom?" Tony asked in surprise. "I can't imagine NCIS footing the bill."

"No..." The doctor looked at his chart again. "Huh...that's odd. There's no name listed, no carrier, no personal information. Strange. I'll have to check this out, but in the meantime, you are free to go."

Checking out took very little time, but Tony couldn't leave without checking on the other members of the team. It was easier to do so since both Gibbs and Ziva were in regular rooms and were close to each other. Abby forced him to ride in the chair while she pushed him. Inside, she was nervous. Tony was so altered. Even Gibbs was more quiet than usual. Ziva didn't talk much either. They all had this shadowed look in their eyes...and she couldn't touch it...because she wasn't a part of the darkness.

The reached Gibbs' room first. He was still being monitored, but he'd been improving steadily since they had moved him from the ICU that morning.

"Hey, Gibbs, Tony's been set free!" Abby announced cheerfully.

"Congratulations," Gibbs said sourly. He was recovered enough to be upset about still being in the hospital.

"Hey, not my fault, Boss," Tony said. "I'm not the one who–" He broke off abruptly.

"Yeah."

Abby looked back and forth between them and fretted about thinking of something cheering to say.

"Any sign of McGee?" Gibbs asked...as he had every time someone came to visit him.

"No. Not yet," Abby said. The more he asked, the more worried she got. "Director Shephard let slip that Carew hasn't been around either. I think she thinks that he's got Tim again...but no one knows."

"Someone must," Tony said.

"Yeah...but no someone at NCIS."

"Yeah."

"Boss..."

"Don't say it, Tony," Gibbs said, tiredly.

"I broke. You didn't."

"Yeah, I did."

"You didn't say anything."

Gibbs smile was almost a grimace. "Yeah, I know...because you spoke faster. I was ready to...I had opened my mouth to speak...you just got the words out first. If you hadn't said enough, I would have. Stop beating yourself up about it. They didn't get him...and you saved Ziva."

"Then...why doesn't it _feel_ like I did anything right?"

"Because you did what the terrorists wanted...and we're told so often that we don't give in to terrorism."

"Um...Gibbs?" Abby asked.

"Yeah?"

"Are you allowed out of bed yet?"

"I don't know. I haven't asked. Why?"

"Because..." She hesitated and then continued more confidently. "...because I think you guys need to talk about this all together, not just in pairs. Ziva's just down the hall. What if I swiped another wheelchair?"

At first, she thought he'd protest, but then, he gave her a small smile. "Okay, Abbs. You do that. You're right."

Abby straightened, acting as though she hadn't been worried at all. "I know I'm right. You can't deal with this stuff alone...and..." This was a painful admission. "...and I can't really help."

Tony snagged her hand as she walked by. "No, Abbs. You're helping. A lot. We couldn't do it alone."

"You could. I'm just making sure you don't," Abby said, hiding how touched she was. "You know me. I can't keep out of other people's business." She smiled again and pulled back her hand. In moments, she had secretly wheeled both Tony and Gibbs down the hall to Ziva's room. Then, as they sat in an awkward silence, the first time they'd been all together since being rescued, she slipped out, deciding that Tony would be helped out a lot more by this than by going home.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Tony is being released today. Abigail is picking him up as we speak," Ducky reported. "You will not be able to keep this hidden much longer."

"I know. No one knows where Carew is...or if they do, they're not saying. Fornell is still on the task force assigned to find McGee...but he hasn't seen anything. I keep hoping that I'll have some good news to offset the bad." Jenny sighed disconsolately and sat down at her desk.

"How bad _is_ the bad?"

Jenny visibly hesitated.

"Come now, Director. You have trusted me thus far. Trust me a little farther. I promise that your trust will not be misplaced."

Jenny smiled at the cajoling tone. "I do trust you, Ducky. Keeping secrets gets both easier and harder the longer you do it." She paused. "They want to...appropriate McGee...on a permanent basis."

"Who?"

"That I really _can't_ tell you, Ducky. It's enough to say that I'm not sure I even have enough support to keep it from happening...and with McGee gone..."

"So it's getting worse and not better?"

"Seems that way, at the moment...and I dread what might be happening with McGee now anyway. He's with Carew still..."

"I still have not given up hope."

"Maybe that will help."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Later that day, Jenny received word that a meeting had been scheduled to discuss the "situation" with Tim. She anticipated being told that her control over his employment was about to be stripped away...since she obviously couldn't keep him safe.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

"We have a message!" Xandra's voice was triumphant.

"From?"

"You know."

"Really?"

"Yes. He's...stuck in a hospital in Billings."

"He's okay?" Amin asked, excited.

"Yeah. He will be, he says, as soon as we come and get him."

Lawrence grinned in spite of his own injuries. "I guess we have enough fuel to stop by Billings."

Thompson was already packing.

The team was going to be whole again. That was what made dealing with the job they did bearable. They had to watch moments go by, had to work beneath the radar. They couldn't do it alone...

...they needed each other.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim noticed a definite difference when he woke up. First of all, it was light outside instead of that dull blackness. The light wasn't sharp by any means. He figured that meant it was either cloudy or before dawn. The second thing he noticed was that he had no trouble remembering everything that had come before. No need to be reminded. The third thing was that he wasn't wearing a shirt. The reason for that was patently obvious because, even with all the differences, there was something that remained the same: the pain. His back _hurt_. Actually, his whole body hurt from head to toe, but if he were asked to say how he felt, he would have pointed out his back as the area most deserving of attention.

His ruminations were interrupted by a long-suffering sigh. He shifted position a little and saw one of his least favorite people in the world.

"Agent McGee," Alexis said in exasperation, "why is it that you insist on being so difficult? You weren't supposed to wake up for another few hours."

Tim rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry to make things hard for you."

"Well, I have to investigate your injuries and I don't have time to put you out again."

"Got somewhere to be?"

"Yes. We're leaving. I'm just going to give you a once-over before we go. So roll onto your stomach and try not to wiggle. It's really annoying."

Tim followed her instructions. "This is why you're not a real doctor, isn't it. In the CIA you don't have to care about your patients."

"Well, I was told that I lack a good bedside manner," Alexis said.

"That's charitable of them." He shivered as he felt the drape lifted from his back, exposing his skin to the open air.

"I'm not going to bother rebandaging all these. It would take too long, especially with you awake," she said, probing his various wounds. Tim tensed. She was not gentle at all, just thorough. "I'd recommend that you get someone to look at them within the next day. Infection is much too common to want to risk overlooking it. Probably your ME. You could go to a hospital, but seeing as you weren't admitted before, you won't have a chart and shrapnel wounds tend to attract attention. Attention which I'm sure you'd rather avoid." She probed some more and Tim involuntarily shifted. "Stop moving!" she snapped.

"Then, stop touching my back," Tim retorted through gritted teeth.

Alexis ignored him and continued her examination. It took five of the longest minutes Tim had ever experienced. He pressed his face into the pillow and tried to smother the moans...without smothering himself. Finally, she stopped the torture and replaced the drape.

"I'm leaving some prescription pain medication for you. I recommend that you not take it if you have to be quick on your feet, figuratively or literally. However, it will dull the pain. Be careful when you shower. In fact, it might be better to avoid letting the water hit your back directly. You want to keep the bandages dry and your wounds are still fairly fragile...and besides, the tenderness will only increase with the water pressure. We've left you some clothes, loose on top. Your head wounds are minor and the skinned knees are bad, but not bad enough to need stitches. Just keep an eye out for infection. Topical antibiotics should be sufficient. Any questions?"

Tim didn't look at her as he shook his head.

"Good."

He heard her walk out, but he wasn't left alone for long.

"This is where we say good-bye, Agent McGee," Carew said as he walked into the room.

"Wait!" Tim rolled over, gasped at the pain of the injudicious movement and forced himself to sit up and look at the Director of the CIA. The drape fell from his back to the bed.

"Yes?" Carew's eyes were wide with polite inquiry.

"What do you want from me?"

"Want? What makes you think I _want_ anything?"

Maybe it was the physical pain, maybe it was the torment in his head, but Tim's patience snapped.

"Don't treat me like an idiot!" he said, taking quick trembling breaths to make the throbbing pain go away. "I promised you anything to get your help. You did your part. What do you want from me?"

Carew said nothing. He just stared at Tim with a bland smile.

"You wouldn't tell me before because you said that you wanted to make sure we lived through everything. Well, we have. You even kept me from being taken after the explosion. Tell me what you want," Tim begged. "Tell me what I have to do."

Carew looked at him for another long moment and then his smile widened. "For now? I want nothing. I want you to go back to NCIS...if you can manage to remain there. Don't mistake this for altruism. I told you before that the world needs people like you...if only to be at the beck and call of people like me."

Tim stared at him in disbelief and Carew chuckled at his expression.

"I'm not backing out, Agent McGee. I don't back out of deals. I _will_ collect, but for now, I choose not to. Some day...some day, I'll expect you to live up to the deal you made, to repay me for my aid. However, today is not that day. _Alexis_ and I will be returning to the CIA, momentarily. You are free to remain here for as long as you would like. I'll even leave you cab fare. I would prefer you not tell your friends about this safe house. It's hard finding good places in the Metro area."

Carew turned to leave and Tim's shock was such that Carew was almost out the door before his brain started working again.

"That's it?" He gave an incredulous laugh.

Carew turned back. "Agent McGee, my part is done. I _will_ collect on the debt you owe me, but not today. I prefer to keep hold of a few debts. You never know when one will come in handy. As I told you a year ago, I don't care what you do now. That is up to you, but I expect you to do your best to keep the government from taking control of you...because I can tell you without any fear of reprisal that that is their current plan. If you don't manage to escape that fate, then, I guess it will mean that I must wait a little longer for your repayment. Otherwise, know that I'll ask...eventually."

Then, he was gone. Tim sat there, his arms trembling with the effort of keeping himself in a sitting position. He heard the sounds as Carew and Alexis cleaned up. It didn't take them long and he knew that, once he ventured out of the bedroom, the house would be empty. The only fingerprints would be the ones he'd leave...and even those would only last until a cleaning crew came. He didn't move as he waited for the sounds to cease. The only sound in the bedroom was his own breathing, quick and shallow.

_Beck and call. It's not over yet. It will never be over. Never._

The front door opened and closed and Tim let the silence last for a full minute before he collapsed, face down, onto the bed, letting the tears fall, letting the sobs fill the empty silence as he realized that he had too many things to worry about...and no one to tell. He was in this alone.

All alone.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Debesh, we have a pickup!"

Debesh Patwary stood and walked to the dispatcher without hesitation.

"Where?"

"Congress Heights. Here's the address. Step on it!"

Debesh nodded and left. He'd heard the phrase often enough to know what it meant, although it still seemed strange to him. He didn't dare use it himself for fear of making an embarrassing or offensive error when speaking to the fluent English speakers all around him. His English was getting better all the time, but it was still full of errors of varying levels of incomprehensibility. As he drove to the indicated address, he went over the map of DC he kept in his head. When he had been given this job, he had taken it very seriously and had poured over the streets, neighborhoods and wards that made up the Metro area. Whenever he got tired of driving all day and all night, he reminded himself that he was making money. Not a lot, it was true, but enough. Also, the longer he stayed, the closer he was to getting a green card.

He pulled up in front of the nondescript house a few minutes later and was about to get out when the front door opened. It must be his fare. He remained where he was and watched the slow approach of the man. When he got into the cab, Debesh broke his own rule of letting the fare decide whether or not to make conversation.

"_Shaheb_, are you all right?"

The man nodded, but he didn't look all right. His face was as drawn and pale as anyone he'd ever seen before.

"Are you certain? Do you need to go to a hospital?"

The man smiled and shook his head. "I'm fine. Just take me to Silver Spring, please."

"Yes, shaheb. The address, please?" He made a mental note and began to drive, allowing the silence to descend.

It actually didn't last very long.

"Where are you from?"

The voice was almost too soft for him to understand the words. This man did not enunciate very well.

"I am sorry, shaheb. I did not understand you."

"Sorry." His voice was louder and clearer. "Where are you from?"

"Tangali in Bangladesh."

"How long have you been here?"

"About a year."

"What's that you called me?"

"Shaheb."

"What does it mean?"

Here Debesh hesitated. "I think it means..._sir_, but I am not certain. It is a respectful form of address."

"Sir would probably work."

"I am Debesh."

"Tim."

"That is a short name."

"I thought yours would be longer, too."

Debesh looked in the rearview mirror and caught the flash of humor in the pained eyes.

"If I gave you my full Bengali name, it would be longer, but here I have found two names works better than six."

The laugh was so full of sadness that Debesh was sure Tim would be crying when he looked at him again. He wasn't.

"May I ask, shaheb, what happened?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your face is..." He faltered over the words. "...bruised and...and cut up."

"Oh. Nothing really."

"Were you in Arlington?"

There was no question that the eyes were surprised. Even though the rest of his face was nearly expressionless, Tim's eyes were alive with emotion.

"Why do you ask?"

"I mean no rudeness, but you are hurt and you are...more than that...uh...I do not know the word for it. _Byatha_?"

"Sorry...I don't know very much Bengali."

"Not surprising, shaheb," Debesh said, but understood that Tim wasn't going to answer him...which seemed to mean that he had been there...in some capacity.

The silence reigned for a few more minutes.

"Was it bad?" Debesh asked. "I saw the news."

"Did they get everyone? I haven't seen any of the updates today."

Debesh smiled at the evasion. "They found many people and arrested them. If that is all of them, I do not know." He looked at the street coming up and began to slow. "Here we are, yes?"

"Wow. Good memory."

"I know."

"Why did you come here, Debesh?" Tim asked.

"I wanted to study here, but I could not afford to both live here and study here. So I chose to come and live first. Then, I will be able to study."

"Aren't there scholarships?"

"Perhaps. I did not receive any."

Tim nodded at the logic of that. "Thanks for the ride." He leaned forward to see what the fare was and then handed Debesh the money Carew had left him.

"Shaheb, this is too much...even with a tip!" He tried to give some of it back and was surprised at the look on Tim's face.

"No. I don't want any of it back. You use it to get a little closer to studying." He walked away toward the apartment building. Debesh watched him for a few seconds, perplexed by his unexpected generosity...and revulsion. The money amounted to nearly a hundred dollars. He waited to leave until Tim was inside. Then, dispatch called him for another pickup and he put the matter of out of his mind...until the end of the day. He wondered just who Tim was.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim wondered the same thing as he stepped inside his apartment. He hadn't been there for more than two weeks and it felt like two years. He looked around at his life...

Two weeks ago, he wouldn't have thought it possible that he felt like such an invader in his own home. With careful steps, he walked to his bedroom, dropped the bag on the floor with a thump and nearly fell onto his bed. He roused himself just enough to take one of the pills Alexis had left him. That was all.

Sleep was easier than having to think about who he was.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ziva, Tony and Gibbs were staring in shock at the television screen. Arlington...the site of a thwarted terrorist attack? Footage from the first bomb blast was being shown as the newscasters gave one recap among many that had occurred over the last three days. They all saw Tim. It wasn't so clear that people who weren't looking for him would have noticed, but they had noticed, had seen the shot of people streaming from the condo...and then the small group who had come out last...and Tim and another man being caught in the explosion, thrown to the ground where they both lay unmoving as the camera swung dizzingly around. Whoever had been holding it was obviously running away.

"McGee," Ziva whispered. "What was he doing there?"

"He said he had something else he needed to do."

Gibbs was silent, staring at the unmistakable form of Tim lying limply on the ground. The footage was being replayed as the newscaster was explaining that this blast was minor, about the same magnitude as the ten others. Then, the story moved on.

"Who was with him?" Ziva asked.

"Carew, most likely," Tony said, bitterly. Carew was the easy one to hate. There was nothing mixed up with disliking him.

"Probably," Gibbs whispered. He still felt much too tired. His body was definitely not as young as it used to be and the length of time it was taking for him to recover told him that. He felt listless most of the time.

"Were those people the same ones...the ones who–?" Tony didn't finish. He didn't need to. He looked at Ziva and Gibbs. When they had been found together the day before, the nurses had acceded to the inevitable and simply moved Gibbs and Ziva to a shared room. That way they wouldn't be traipsing around reinjuring themselves.

"Why else would McGee be involved?"

"Why are we just sitting here?" Tony asked.

"Because of the three of us, you are the only one able to stand," Ziva retorted. "...and even you cannot do so for very long. Admit it, Tony. We are all useless."

"You think the others know?"

"Yes," Gibbs said. "Our reaction is why they didn't tell us."

"I hate being useless," Tony muttered and stared at the floor.

"We're not useless," Gibbs said. "If we recover...it will be that much easier for McGee when he comes back."

"_If_ he comes back..."

"He _will_ come back," Ziva said, with unexpected force. "He did not die in that recording. The blast was not strong and he was far enough away that there is no reason to think that he is dead."

Tony looked up again. "Then, _why_ is he still gone? Why isn't he here? Why hasn't anyone told us? ...if there was good news, they would have. If he's not injured, then that means he's staying away on purpose. Why? Because of us?"

"Maybe we don't know everything, Tony," Gibbs said softly. "I don't think we ever have. Maybe we won't get the chance."

"I can't just sit here," Tony said, pushing himself to his feet. "I need to be doing something."

Ziva looked envious, but Gibbs just nodded and closed his eyes. Tony hated seeing that weakness, that lassitude that wasn't going away. He hated Ziva saying so matter-of-factly that she couldn't stand up. These were the two people who weren't _supposed_ to accept being confined to a bed. He couldn't deal with it and withdrew as quickly as he could. As he walked out of the hospital, he tried to think of someplace else he could go tomorrow.

NCIS. There was nowhere else. Sure, he didn't have a team to work with and he wasn't up to much...but at least he'd be there...and for the first time, he thought he might have a glimpse into Tim's desire to stay there. NCIS did feel safe.

...but where was he?


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

Tim opened his eyes, feeling incredibly groggy. Alexis had been right. Those pills were strong. He wouldn't take any today. He'd need his wits. It might be tricky getting back to NCIS, Tim knew. He couldn't be sure how intense the search for him actually was. It wouldn't hurt to be cautious...even paranoid about being found. That meant _not_ taking his own car to the Yard. However, he couldn't go out on the street and hail a taxi either. That would be incredibly stupid...like painting a big old target on his...back. Calling for one was also out. They might be waiting for him to do that, to track him. He could order one over the internet but he'd have to disguise his IP address...just in case. That would work.

Decision made, he groaned as he sat up. His back really hurt. Funny how shrapnel could do that, he thought sarcastically. As he contemplated actually standing up, he thought about his return to NCIS. It loomed in his mind like a monolith. What was he really expecting from it? He did want to find out what had happened to Tony and Ziva and Gibbs. If they were all okay, he felt he could face a possible...what was the term Carew had used? Appropriation. He could face that with at least a modicum of dignity, if he knew that he hadn't killed them.

With a deep breath, Tim stood and bit his lip to keep from screaming. He desperately wanted to take more of the painkillers Alexis had left for him but he needed to be...quick on his feet today. He could repress, ignore the pain...as long as he didn't touch his back. As he slowly lumbered his way to the bathroom, he mentally eliminated the idea of actually showering. He would do as little as possible to maintain a degree of cleanliness. As he stared at himself in the mirror, he understood why Debesh had been so sure something was wrong. Even to his own jaundiced eye, Tim thought he looked like he'd been through the ringer...almost literally.

Splashing water on his face didn't help. He didn't dare shave with all the cuts and scrapes, not that it gave him more than a shadow. It could hardly be worse than the shadow in his eyes. Tim himself could see it. It wasn't only his friends that had put it there. It was everything...but in particular, it was the fact that, as he thought about what had happened in the past week, he had killed people...again.

_...and I don't feel any guilt over it._

It was as though he was at last saying good-bye to who he'd been in the past. The guilt he felt over the lives he'd taken before was still there, but he had shot a man in the face and not even flinched. The one time he _had_ flinched had almost allowed one of the team to be killed. It was as though the cosmos was telling him that it was pointless to try and follow the rules because, when he did, people got hurt. If he had broken protocol and called NCIS instead of just leaving a message, Tony, Ziva and Gibbs would never have felt they had to go to Montana. If he hadn't hesitated in killing that man, his friends wouldn't have been in danger of death themselves.

_I hate this world,_ he thought, _but I seem to be required to live in it. For how much longer? How much more can I take?_

He sighed and went back to his bedroom. Slowly, painfully, he stripped off the clothes he had worn the day before (and overnight) and dressed in one of his sharper suits. Maybe it would offset his injuries. As he put on a clean shirt, he was surprised to find that it was loose on him. It had been almost snug the last time he'd worn it. Gently, he pulled on a jacket over top. It still caused him to wince. Finally dressed, he walked back to the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror.

_I look like death warmed over. ...I guess that's better than looking dead._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"You're right on time, Agent DiNozzo."

"No need to sound so surprised."

"I was given to understand that you might resist coming."

Tony shook his head. "I'm...I know I need the help."

"Well, that's the best way to begin. Come in. Have a seat."

"Will you approve me going to work if I come?"

"I was told that you would not be fit to go to work."

"Not in the field...but I don't have a team to work with anyway. I just want to be back at NCIS."

"That can be arranged."

"Today?"

"If you feel the need."

"I do."

"Very well."

"Just like that?"

"This is therapy, Agent DiNozzo. It's not a punishment. You did nothing wrong."

Tony was silent.

"You didn't, you know. Why don't we start there..."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Agent Gibbs, you spent three days with an untreated gunshot wound. You also spent two days with a severe burn in the same area. You are, as I am sure you're aware, not a young man anymore. It takes longer for older bodies to heal."

"You don't have to treat me like I'm senile," Gibbs grumbled.

Ziva smiled at the exchange. Gibbs had more energy today and that was a distinct relief to her...and it would be to Tony as well. She herself knew that there was a long way to go before she was ready to be released. The bleeding had been bad enough, but the ischemia from the days of unrelieved restraint had put a strain on her nerves and tendons that would take time to heal. For whatever reason, she was not annoyed by that. She was...relieved. Relieved that they had all survived. Too often, situations like that ended only in death. They had all survived.

_...because of McGee. Where is he now?_

"You're _not_ senile, but you are injured. If we take your recovery slowly now, you'll be back on your feet that much sooner...and you'll be less likely to make a repeat visit. Do this our way, Agent Gibbs. Believe me, we don't want to keep you here any longer than necessary."

Ziva saw Gibbs almost smile and looked away to keep from smiling herself. It felt almost wrong to smile. They'd all been tortured. Tim had disappeared. Bombs had gone off in Arlington. This was not the time to smile.

_...but if not now, when?_

"Have you heard anything about McGee?" Gibbs asked after the doctor left.

Ziva shook her head. "No. Nothing. Tony is going to NCIS today after he speaks to the psychiatrist. He will tell us if there is something to tell."

"Why isn't this bothering you, Ziva?"

"What?"

"Being stuck in here. You're never willing to sit around."

Ziva let her eyes shift to the television. "Because I am grateful that I am alive to sit around. I thought I would die...and I thought that the only thing worse than that was the pain I was causing you and Tony. I want that to be over."

"Just like that?"

"No. It does not work like that," she said and faced Gibbs. "But I can start...and I will succeed because I remember now the expression in McGee's eyes when he held me. He wished he was dead. I do not want to be the cause of that feeling...not in anyone, and if I can stop it by healing, then I will take all the time required to do so."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"ID, please."

"Don't you recognize me, Henry?" Tim asked, managing a believable smile.

"Agent McGee? Are you all right?" Henry asked in shock.

"I've been better, but I hope you'll let me in anyway."

"Go right in, Agent McGee...and sit down before you fall over."

Tim nodded. "I'll do my best." He walked to the elevator and sent it up, all the way up to the balcony level. The taxi ride had _not _been relaxing. Too many abrupt stops and starts that had left him almost crying. But he had made it, apparently undetected. He walked along the balcony to Jenny's office and stepped into the reception area. Cynthia was at her desk. She looked up, looked down and then jerked her head back up.

"Agent McGee! Do you need to sit down?"

"Why is everyone asking me that?" Tim asked, but he managed a small smile. "No. I need to see the director. Is she in?"

"Yes. Go in. She's in MTAC, but I'll tell her you're here."

"Thanks." Tim walked toward the door.

"Agent McGee."

He turned.

"I'm so glad you made it."

Tim couldn't quite make a smile in response. "I don't know if I have yet, but thank you."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Abby sat rather glumly, waiting for a call that would send her into one of her frantic bursts of energy which allowed her to get all the work done in a timely fashion.

_Maybe I should go down to Autopsy,_ she thought. _Ducky and Jimmy are there, at least_. At first, she'd gone to the bullpen during the downtime in order to feel closer to them even when they were gone, but it had only made things worse to see the unoccupied desks. I t was hard knowing that the majority of her favorite people in the building...just weren't there. NCIS had over a hundred employees working at any given time on a normal day, but she had attached herself mostly to Gibbs' team... things had just worked out that way. Without them there, _knowing_ that two were still recovering physically and that one was recovering mentally from the torture, and _not_ knowing where the fourth was...it was really hard to deal with it. She was making an effort...and Ducky and Jimmy had born the brunt of her efforts not to worry about what was going on.

_Maybe I should give them a break... No, people can find me if they need to._

Decision made, Abby wandered down to Autopsy.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim stood stiffly in Jenny's office. His legs wanted to sit, but his back said that any unnecessary movement had to be avoided. The thought of stretching or twisting the skin in _any_ way almost made him shudder...except that shuddering hurt as well.

The door opened and closed behind him. He didn't turn.

"Agent McGee, I'm glad you're back. Please, sit," Jenny offered, sitting down herself.

Tim shook his head. "I'd prefer to stand, ma'am."

"Very well. How did you get away from Carew?"

That question made him want to cry, but he resisted the impulse. "I didn't." He paused. "Carew told me that the current plan is for the government to take over my life...permanently."

"That's not how they're putting it...but yes, that's what they want to do," Jenny said, nodded sadly.

"Has the decision been made?"

"Not officially. There's a meeting at the White House tomorrow."

"Who's going to be there?"

"The heads of all the federal agencies involved, CIA, FBI, NSA, you know the list. The Secretary of Defense, SecNav and possibly a few other White House flunkies."

Tim managed a smile at the description. "Am I invited? Do I get a say in my own life?"

"You've been gone, McGee," Jenny said gently. "That's part of the reason for this. I am apparently unqualified to keep you safe...whether you need to be or not."

"I need to go with you, Director."

"Why?"

Now, for the first time, Tim allowed some emotion into his voice. "To look in their eyes and tell them I'm not going to play anymore. To let them see what they've done to me in the name of patriotism. To say that there is no way...no way at all that I will allow them to destroy me any more than they already have."

"McGee, I'm not so sure that would be a good idea."

Tim took a deep breath and let it out in a soft laugh. "Two years ago, I proved that I was good at resisting torture. I've proved my technical prowess time and again. I've also, more recently, illustrated my ability to work under...physical stresses. Unless these people are willing to engage in the same behaviors they find abhorrent in others, they can't force me to do anything I don't want to do. They need to hear that from me. They need to _see_ what they've done to me already and know that I _won't_ be used that way anymore. ...I have enough of that as it is."

"What do you mean?"

Tim smiled again, but rarely had he ever felt _less_ like smiling. "I can only tolerate so much, Director. This may never truly be over, but they're not going to make it any worse. I can't handle more. I can barely handle what I have. You _need_ to take me with you."

Jenny stared at him for a long moment, as if analyzing his every word, his every move. "All right. You'd better stay at NCIS today and...try and stay..."

"Out of sight, out of mind?"

"Yes. They're still looking for you, although I don't think they're focusing too much on us right now...simply because they know we're not likely to be especially helpful. They're hoping to catch you out in the open."

"I'm fine with staying here. Nothing bad has really happened to me here. It's only out there."

"I don't think you're allowed to move in."

"I'm not planning on it, Director," Tim said, his smile a bit more genuine. He turned to walk out of the office.

"McGee... Tim."

He turned back.

"I...I am _so_ sorry."

Tim shook his head. "None of this is your fault, Director. You've done your best to keep me free...and I appreciate that. In the last few days, though, I've realized that I have to do my part as well. I can't depend on you to do it for me."

"Will you make it?"

"I don't know...but I've made this far, haven't I?" Tim smile lasted only a fraction of a second.

"I've thought many times that you are one of the strongest people I've ever known, Tim. I just don't want you to have to face your limits...because they're already farther than I thought they'd be."

"Same here. Is that all, Director?"

"Yes. Keep a low profile."

"Will do." Tim turned around a final time and walked out of the office with the same pained gait that he had been using since waking up the day before. He decided to drop his bag at his desk before heading down to Autopsy to talk to Ducky. The weight was almost too much for him.

"Are you sure you're all right, McGee?" Cynthia asked as he passed.

"No," Tim said, honestly. "How are the others?"

"Agent DiNozzo was released yesterday, but Agent Gibbs and Officer David are still in the hospital."

"Will they be all right?"

"As far as I know. They are all slated for psychiatric visits, but a full recovery is predicted."

"Good."

"What about for you?"

Tim hitched one shoulder and winced. "Jury's still out on me. I'll let you know...when you tell me what you used to do before taking your place at that desk."

Cynthia smiled in response...but didn't answer.

Tim nodded and continued on his way...but he stopped when he reached the balcony. He saw an impossible sight...a painful and joyous sight. Tony was sitting at his desk. A breath of normalcy in the insanity that ruled his life, but Tim wanted to hide. He couldn't forget what Tony had said...and how true it had all been. He'd have to face it eventually, however, so he walked down the steps and put his bag down at his desk.

"Hi, Tony," he said softly.

Tony turned around and almost looked happy to see him...almost. "McGee!"

"Couldn't stay away?" Tim asked.

"You know me. I never know when to quit."

Tim nodded and began to walk to the elevator.

"Wait! McGee, where are you going?"

"I'll be back. I just have something to do."

"Hey!" Tony stood and strode over to him, grabbing his arm. He forced Tim to turn around. "That's it? You disappear for days, reappear and that's all you have to say?"

His back was throbbing and Tim just couldn't focus on Tony's words...not as much as he should be.

"Later, Tony. I promise. Later, not now." He turned toward the elevator again...and suddenly felt his back explode in a paroxysm of pain.

Tony had reached out and hit him...a solid thump right in the middle of his back. It was a thump meant to get attention, not to cause pain.

...what it did, however, was wring a tortured scream from Tim and drive him to his knees, tears of agony falling down his cheeks.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

"It's okay." When Tim finally became aware of something beyond the agony, he noticed that he was saying that sentence over and over again.

"It's okay." He wasn't sure exactly _why_ he was saying that when he most definitely was lying. He wasn't okay. His back wasn't okay. _Nothing_ about the situation could possibly be described as okay.

"It's okay." And yet, he kept saying it...in between the tears he couldn't hold back. Gradually, his awareness extended beyond himself and to his immediate surroundings. He was leaning on his desk, his forehead resting against the edge, one hand gripping the corner so tightly he could feel it digging into his palm. His skinned knees rather resented the pressure he was exerting on them but he could tolerate that.

"It's okay."

"It's _not_ okay, McGee. I'm sorry, man. What's wrong?"

It was Tony speaking. Tim knew the voice but he couldn't believe the tone, the words he was hearing. They did _not_ sound like Tony.

"Nothing...nothing. It's okay. Just...just give me a minute." _An hour. A year._

"I called for Ducky. He's on his way up."

Tim felt Tony approach and he flinched away.

"Please...don't touch me. Just give me a minute. I'll be okay."

The pain truly was fading slightly when he heard the elevator ding. In fact, he managed to lift his head and look briefly at Ducky as he approached and to fear for his life as he saw Abby's face.

"Tim! You're...you look _awful_!" She took a step but was restrained by Ducky.

"I think this is not a time for hugging, my dear," he said as Tim let his head drop again. "What happened?"

"It's okay," Tim said again.

"Stop saying that, McGee. It's not...and you're not," Tony said, his face pale. "I just whacked him on the back, Ducky. That's all, I swear!"

"It's okay, Tony," Tim whispered. He swallowed and tried to stand. "I'm okay. I'm fine." As soon as he was upright, his knees buckled and he went back to the floor.

"No, you're not."

"I must agree with Tony. You are definitely _not_ fine, Timothy," Ducky said and knelt beside Tim. "Let me check you out, all right?"

Tim lifted his head again. "Not out here. Please?"

"Very well. Abigail, check and see if any of the conference rooms are open, would you?"

"Sure, Ducky." Abby was staring at Tim in concern. He met her gaze and tried to smile.

"Can you stand, Timothy?"

"Stand? Yes. I can do that." Tim levered himself upright again. When he tried to take a step, however, his knees again refused to carry his weight he nearly fell. Tony kept him from going all the down, but he grabbed Tim's arms. It was an awkward grip. Ducky was there in an instant, helping carry some of the weight.

"Sorry," Tim mumbled. "I'm a little...light-headed is all. I'll be fine."

"Will you stop saying that, McGee?" Tony said.

"Ducky, the...Tim!"

"I'm okay, Abby," Tim said, hanging limply between Tony and Ducky, needing their help much more than he wanted to admit.

"Abigail, one of the conference rooms?"

"Yes."

"Good. Lead on."

Tim was nearly walking on his own by the time they reached the conference room, but sat down heavily.

"Let's see what the trouble is, Timothy."

Tim felt too exhausted to argue. He tried to take off his jacket but it seemed to be impossible to move the muscles in his back. Abby moved over and eased one arm out and then the other. She gasped in dismay.

"What?" Tim asked, not really wanting to know.

"I think...I owe you a new shirt, Probie," Tony said softly.

"Let's see," Ducky said again.

Tim nodded and began tiredly undoing the buttons on his shirt.

"I guess I shouldn't have wasted so much time this morning getting dressed," he said and smiled.

"Perhaps not."

"Abby...can you help me again?" Tim asked, smiling once more.

"Of course, Tim. I remember how." The look on her face completely belied her light words.

"Hard to forget," he said and then winced as the fabric moved from his body.

Tim expected more gasps of dismay once they saw what was back there. He hadn't seen it, but he figured he didn't really need to. He _felt_ it. He was not disappointed. In the midst of the expected gasps, he heard a heavy thump and turned his head halfway. Just barely in his sight, he could see Tony sitting on a chair, staring in horror at his back.

"Don't worry...it's worse than it looks," Tim said and tried to smile again. This time, he couldn't make it. He stared at the bloodstains in the center of his shirt where Tony had hit him and broken open the fragile wounds.

"These are shrapnel wounds, are they not?" Ducky asked.

"Yeah."

"Oh, Tim..."

"No hugs, Abby," Tim said. "That really _would_ make it worse."

Abby sat down in front of him, pulled the shirt from his grip and then, grabbed both his hands, squeezing them tightly, tears in her eyes.

"Oh, Tim...why is all this happening to you?"

"Just my luck, I guess."

"Some of these are infected. I'll need to rebandage _all_ of them."

"Yeah, I figured. Alexis said you might...and she wasn't in the mood to do any of the rebandaging before she left."

"You never went to a hospital?"

"No. Too risky. That's why I can't go now."

"Well...this may be too much damage for me to treat here."

Tim turned his head the other way. "Ducky...when I showed up in Autopsy with crushed legs..._that_ was too much for you to treat. This is nothing. Just a few bumps."

"Whistling in the dark, are we?"

Tim closed his eyes. "Just do what you can, Ducky. I have to be able to walk around tomorrow morning."

"Why?"

"A meeting...one I can't miss."

"Timothy..."

"Please, Ducky. Do what you can. I'm...not above begging."

"All right. All right, Timothy. It won't be painless."

"I do have some painkillers, but they kind of knock me out and I didn't want that to happen when I wasn't sure if I'd make it here."

"Then, while I get myself together, why don't you take those and that way you'll be in less pain...overall."

"It's in my bag." Tim began to stand up, but Ducky held him down, gently pushing on his shoulders.

"I doubt you'd make it back out there."

"I'll get it," Tony offered.

"You're as pale as he is, Tony. Sit down. Abigail?"

"If you guys would all stop doing such dangerous things..." she said and walked out quickly.

"Do stay seated, both of you. I don't know why you're even here, Tony. Surely, your apartment would be more comfortable."

Tony just shook his head silently and stared at Tim's back.

"Very well. It shouldn't take very long, Timothy."

Tim nodded. Then...he and Tony were alone. Tim thought that he should probably turn around, but that seemed too much to ask at the moment. Tony didn't seem to eager to move around to face Tim either.

"I'm sorry, McGee."

"You didn't know, Tony. You would never have done that if you had known."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I'm sure."

There was a long silence...and Tim wondered what was taking Abby so long. His bag wasn't invisible, nor particularly heavy.

"Part of me was glad," Tony said to his back.

"What?"

"I'm really sorry I did that...but...part of me...I thought you deserved it."

Tim swallowed. "Maybe I did. Maybe it was poetic justice. You wouldn't have been there if it hadn't been for me."

"No. No, I was wrong. I was wrong when I yelled at you. I was wrong when...when I told them what they wanted to know about you."

Tim shook his head. "No, Tony. You weren't. I'm glad you told them. It was...it tore me apart to see you guys like that...but...I can't be sure, but I think that the call they made...that was the one that let me locate you; so I could find you. I'll never regret that."

"Why was Carew with you, McGee?"

Tim didn't want to tell Tony that. It was obvious that he felt guilty...and knowing Tim had potentially signed his life away wouldn't make things easier...but he was saved by Abby opening the door.

"Found 'em! You got the good stuff, Tim."

"I know."

"I even got you water."

"Thanks."

Abby's voice was normal, but the way she moved was not. It was exaggerated. She walked more slowly, moved gently around Tim, as if afraid that she might stir the air too vigorously around him. The softness of her motions was...touching in a way and Tim swallowed more than water when she handed it to him.

"Thanks, Abby. This is going to lay me flat, you know."

"Well, then, maybe we should get you off the chair and lay you flat."

"Probably a good idea."

Tim managed to get up and stumble to the short couch at the back of the room. It definitely wasn't long enough for him to stretch out, but he could lay more or less comfortably and allow Ducky to treat him. Ducky took his time coming back and Abby sat silently beside Tim, rubbing his arm gently. Tim let his eyes close, but he didn't sleep. He figured sleep would only come when the drugs actually kicked in. Part of him felt guilty for not trying to make Tony feel better, but...at the moment, it was so nice to have someone caring for him. He just wanted to enjoy it...as much as it was possible. When the door opened, it admitted two people, not one.

"Are you ready, Timothy?" Ducky asked.

"Sure. Who's with you?" _I could get up, but why bother?_

"I thought this would be an excellent opportunity for Mr. Palmer to practice some of what he is being taught."

Tim forced out a laugh. "Just don't forget that I'm not a corpse, Jimmy."

"Drugs have kicked in?" Jimmy asked, sounding a little nervous.

"Not yet, but you might as well start. I've had some experience with it already. It won't be anything new."

He heard Ducky sigh. "Very well. I'm going to remove all the bandages, clean the wounds and apply some antibiotics to fight the infection. They may not be strong enough, and in the end, I do believe you'll need to visit the hospital, but this will be a temporary fix."

"Okay."

Tim tensed as Ducky began his ministrations. Many of the bandages had crusted onto the wounds, making removal that much more painful. He listened as Ducky and Jimmy murmured softly to each other, or sent Abby on various and sundry missions. Tony was there. Tim only knew that because he hadn't heard him leave. As time passed, the pain lessened and the fog in Tim's head grew. He began to miss parts of conversations or he began to relax only to have a particularly nasty wound flare in pain as Ducky cleaned it. He never actually fell asleep during the long process, but it was definitely nicer than having Alexis treat him.

Finally...

"Well, that's done as much as we can."

"They didn't get all the shrapnel out, McGee," Jimmy said.

"I know," Tim mumbled. "Too much. She...sssaid it...lots would work itself out."

"I think we can just leave you here, if you don't mind, Timothy."

"Don't mind. Don't want to move anyway."

"All right. Abigail...ah, you did bring a blanket."

"I had to plan ahead; so that you didn't have me running anywhere else."

Tim laughed softly. "Energizer Abby."

"I don't think there's any point in forcing you back into your clothes. This blanket should do well enough. Stay on your side and rest. When you awaken, make sure you eat something. You've been pushing your body to its limits over the last few days, that much is obvious."

"Had to."

"Maybe, maybe not...but now, you need to rest and recover. That's the doctor's order."

"Yes...ssir."

"Now, Mr. Palmer. I believe you and I have work to do...as do you, Abigail."

"I know. I know."

"At least now she can fawn over you two instead of us," Jimmy said. "It was weird having her down in Autopsy all the time." There was the distinct sound of a smack. "Ow!"

"Sleep tight, Tim," Abby whispered in his ear and then kissed him on his temple.

"Thanks...Abby. Thanks, guys." Tim let his eyes slide closed. He was drifting off to sleep when he heard a sound behind him. He knew who it must be. "It's not your fault, Tony."

"Go to sleep, McGee. You deserve it...maybe it's finally over."

"No. No, it'll never be over, Tony. Never."

"Don't try to do it alone."

Tim forced his eyes open and he struggled to turn over and face Tony...for the first time since the disastrous back slap.

"Some things _have_ to be done alone, Tony."

"You're doing too much alone, McGee."

His eyelids drooped and Tim could feel his body shutting down, going into standby.

"Better than getting people killed..."

He didn't hear Tony's reply...if there was one.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

Tim slept most of the day. Tony stayed with him for a long time. Abby came in when she could, but, unlike Tony, she was on call. Besides, it seemed to be killing her that she couldn't hug Tim and make everything better.

Tim slept.

The sun was on the way down when Ducky came in to check on Tim again.

"He hasn't awakened at all?"

Tony shook his head. "No. He shifted once, but he's been asleep."

"Whatever he has been doing has been too much for him. I take it you're going to stay with him?"

Tony just nodded.

"You could go and visit Ziva and Gibbs, let them know that he is alive. I'm sure they would appreciate it. I think we are all being afflicted with a dose of Timothy's paranoia...and I do not think you should call."

"I don't think I should call either."

Ducky sat down across from Tony.

"You are carrying needless guilt, my boy," he said. "You are not the one who entangled Timothy in this ungodly mess. In fact, the only person even remotely related to the cause who is employed at NCIS is Gibbs...and Timothy does not blame him anymore than he blames you. You cannot take the credit nor the blame for the last two years of Timothy's life. Your ill-timed swat definitely caused him pain, but it was hardly the reason for the wounds being there. Your breaking during Ziva's torture is a sign only of your compassion, nothing else."

"I hated him, Ducky. While I was watching them...I hated him. _I_ blamed _him_ for what happened. ...and do you know what he did when he came into the room?"

"No. I have not heard the details."

Tony reached out and pulled back the blanket enough for Ducky to see the large bruise in the center of Tim's chest. Tim barely stirred.

"He jumped in front of a bullet...just like Kate did...only he did it for all of us because there's no way he could have known which one the guy would have shot. ...and...and I saw him smile, just for a second before he hit the ground. He took a bullet for us...and when I saw him fall...I...I almost thought it served him right. Just for a second...but I can't believe I did at all." He pulled the blanket back over Tim's bare shoulders. "I mean, it's McGee! The Probie...and he stopped a bullet...and all I thought was that I was glad he was dead...just for a second. ...and _I'm_ the one who broke. McGee never did. Ziva didn't and it was happening to _her_. Gibbs didn't. I did."

Ducky sighed and reached out to grip Tony's arm.

"Tony, I'd like to think that I know you pretty well after so many years of associating with you. Would you agree?"

"Sure."

"Good. Because as devolved as you occasionally act, especially towards Timothy...and towards women...I think I know you well enough to know that you wanted the pain to stop...for yourself, for Jethro...and for Ziva. In a moment of pain, you latched onto something illogical...as you say, only for a second, as the means to stop that pain. Such a thought is natural and the fact that you promptly pushed it away is admirable not loathsome." Ducky gave him a little shake. "Let it go, Tony. Let it go and let us all heal from our wounds. Physical or otherwise."

"It's not that simple, Ducky."

"Yes, it is. The part where you have to _do_ it is not...but the solution _is_ that simple. Now, you have been sitting here all day. Go and see your friends; tell them that Timothy is all right."

"He's not all right, Ducky. He said that it would never be over. He's not all right."

Ducky looked at the strain on Tim's face, the strain that didn't disappear even in sleep. Tony was correct. Tim wasn't all right, but he was moreso than he had been.

"He has _us_ now, Tony. He is much better than he would have been otherwise. Now, go. Timothy is not going to disappear again. He will be here...except for that meeting he must attend. I will stay with him. He will not be alone."

Reluctantly, Tony stood, favoring his right side and limping a little.

"Let yourself heal, Tony."

Tony looked at Tim once more. "Who's going to let McGee?"

Ducky couldn't answer that and Tony left. Only when the door was closed did he let out a sigh.

"Oh, Timothy. I fear he is correct. Will _you_ let yourself heal as well? _Can_ you let yourself?"

To his surprise, Tim opened his eyes. They were clouded with the edge of pain, with worry...with fear.

"Maybe someday, Ducky...but not today. Not tomorrow. Not even next week, no matter what it holds. Someday, though, maybe someday I can."

"Can you tell me?"

Tim blinked slowly and shook his head. "No. I thought I could...but no, I can't."

Ducky held his gaze but didn't force him to speak.

"Have you eaten anything?"

Tim shook his head again. "Not really hungry."

"If you wish to function tomorrow, you must eat something today."

"All right. What do you suggest? Last I checked NCIS wasn't big on the nutritional meals."

Ducky chuckled. "Unfortunately, you are correct. Do you feel as though you could sit up?"

"Maybe. Help me?"

"Certainly."

Ducky took the outstretched arm and pulled. Tim only barely held back a groan as he sat on the edge of the couch.

"Somehow, Ducky, I feel worse now than I did this morning."

"That's because now your muscles are stiffening after your sleep...plus, you haven't eaten."

"This is your subtle way of telling me that I need to get something in my stomach?" Tim asked with a grin.

"Yes. Any requests?"

"Not particularly. Surprise me."

"I just might." Ducky stood to leave and paused. "Timothy?"

"Yeah, Ducky?"

"What are you expecting?"

Tim deliberately misconstrued his question. "Maybe a bag of popcorn if I'm lucky."

Ducky smiled sadly and just stared at him.

"Don't ask me that, Ducky. If I think about it...I can't..." His face started to crumple. It was the hardest thing in the world to stand there and watch Tim regain control over himself, holding back the breakdown that was there, just barely out of reach. "Don't ask me right now."

"Will there ever be another chance to ask?"

Tim took a deep breath and let it out very slowly. "I hope so."

"I'll see what I can find for you."

"Thanks. I wouldn't say no to popcorn."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Ducky left and Tim stared at the closed door. He couldn't bear the thought of telling them about Carew, couldn't bear the thought of mentioning his possible permanent disappearance, not if it was going to happen...because there would be nothing for them to do about it. So, he kept it to himself and hoped..._hoped_ that he would see them again. He just wasn't sure that he would.

There was a soft knock on the door.

"Tim?" Abby poked her head inside.

Tim smiled. "Hey, Abbs."

"You mind if I come in?"

"No. Not at all. Just don't expect much from me...and don't hug me."

"I hate just having to sit and stare at you," she said as she came in and sat beside him. "I want to make things better."

"Hugging won't do that, Abby," Tim said. "Not this time."

"I know...but it would make _me_ feel better," she admitted.

Tim laughed softly.

"Could _you_ hug _me_, Tim?" she asked after a moment. "Not hard...just...just...I'll even keep my hands to myself."

In answer, Tim carefully turned, suppressing the wince and wrapped his arms around Abby. As they sat together on the couch, Tim let his head fall onto her shoulder. She leaned against him, bringing a hand up, involuntarily...and then dropping it against his bare chest.

"I just want you to be okay, Tim. Everything's been so...so crappy the last few weeks. I want things to go back to normal."

Tim closed his eyes and almost laughed. "Abby...things haven't been normal...not for two years, not since...since this whole thing started."

"I know."

She fell silent and the two of them sat together, both wishing for something that could never be.

"Even if we can't go back to how we were before all this...it was better once...better than it is now. Can't we go back to that at least?"

"I don't know, Abby. I just don't know."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Hey guys...so McGee showed up randomly. I hit him and nearly laid him flat because...yeah, he got shrapnel in the back and that's where I hit him. Some friend." Tony paused. "Yeah, that's a great way to tell them, DiNozzo." He didn't want to mention the fact that a thoughtless reaction by him had only made Tim's life harder. "All right, you don't have to tell them that. They won't know the difference anyway."

With a deep breath, he stepped into the room.

"Tony!" Ziva said and she actually smiled at him. She looked much better than she had even yesterday. "I was beginning to think that you would just start working and not come."

"Where's Gibbs?"

She looked over at the empty bed. "With the psychiatrist. We are all being sent to therapy, not just you. He should be back soon. What is it?"

Tony sat down on Gibbs' bed. "McGee's back."

Ziva stared at him and just blinked for a few seconds. Then, she smiled again, more widely.

"He is back? He is alive? That is...wonderful news, Tony. Why..." Her smile faded. "Why are you not happy?"

Tony swallowed and debated answering. He should have known that Ziva would notice his less-than-effusive attitude.

"Are you still angry at him?"

"It's...just–" He broke off as the door opened and Gibbs came in...in a wheelchair of course, although he looked annoyed at having to use it.

"DiNozzo...any word on McGee?" Gibbs asked, instantly.

Tony hurriedly stood up from the bed and sat on a chair. He watched as Gibbs got carefully into his own bed, looking annoyed at the weakness that held him back.

"Well?"

"Yeah, Boss. McGee showed up at NCIS this morning."

"Why didn't you tell us earlier?"

"There was...a...problem."

"What problem? Is he all right?" Ziva asked.

Tony felt like the walls were going to cave in on him as he struggled to keep what he had done inside. He stood up and started to walk toward the far wall, but Ziva caught his hand.

"Tony, what is it?"

Tony looked down at her hand, at the bandaged wrist, and suddenly he couldn't keep it in anymore. He began to cry, bending over, almost double, holding onto Ziva's hand as if it was a lifeline. Shocked, she pulled him to her and hugged him, looking at Gibbs over his shoulder, her eyes wide.

"Tony, what is it?" Gibbs asked, repeating Ziva's question.

Tony tried to speak, but at that moment, all he could see was Ziva, lying on the ground...and Tim, leaning against his desk, both limp and weak from pain. _What's the difference?_

"What happened?" Ziva asked. Tony only released her hand in order to hold her tightly. "Tony, please. Tell us what is wrong!"

"I hit him," Tony said, his voice more shaky than they'd ever heard it. "I hit him...and I hurt him." He swore. "It wasn't...I didn't mean to...but I hit him and he fell, almost passed out. He...McGee got...hit by shrapnel...on his back...and...and that's where I hit him. I didn't know! I didn't want...but...at the same time I did. I'm no better than they are. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Ziva swallowed and still held him. She was torn between fury that Tony would hurt Tim and shock at his obvious remorse...a remorse much more intense than she would have expected.

"Tony...it is...it is all right."

"No, it's not, Ziva. It's not all right...because...because McGee blames himself for what happened to us. He's trying to do it all alone...because he doesn't want us to get hurt...and I _wanted_ him to get hurt."

Ziva looked at Gibbs again, pleading for help. Gibbs stood and slowly walked over to the bed. He sat down beside the two and took Tony by the shoulders, pulling him from Ziva's arms. He hung limply. There was no vestige, not a single trace of the brash, confident Anthony DiNozzo they had known. Tony was broken...as surely as Tim had been.

"Tony, look at me," Gibbs said, his voice soft, unaccusing.

Tony remained downcast.

"Tony."

Finally, Tony lifted his head and met Gibbs' gaze. His eyes were red and tears stained his cheeks.

"You are _not_ like the people who tortured us. You are _not_ like them. McGee didn't want us hurt. Your reaction is...is proof that you don't want him hurt either...no matter _what_ you might have done. Tony, you need to stop this."

"He is right," Ziva said. "Tony...this is not like you." She chanced a smile. "I think I would prefer the crude womanizer to this."

Tony managed a laugh, not a real one, but a laugh nonetheless.

"Is McGee okay?" Gibbs asked, still holding Tony's shoulders.

"He's...okay, but not great," Tony said, sniffling a little.

"How about you?"

Tony took a deep breath and looked down again. "Not great...but okay."

"Tony," Ziva said, "I have been able to kill you for more than 24 hours...and I have not. You are human, like the rest of us. McGee has made his own mistakes, and I cannot find it in me to hate you for caring too much. Please...do not hate yourself."

Tony stared at the blanket on Ziva's bed and held out his hand, tentatively. She took it without hesitation.

"This all isn't fair...not for any of us."

"No. It's not," Gibbs agreed. "Life's never fair...but it seems to be picking on us more than usual."

They sat there, together, the three of them...knowing inside that the healing they all sought couldn't be found without the fourth member of their team.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was late...so late that it was early. The man who came into sight was limping, quite a bit worse for the wear than he had been a few short weeks before. The conversation didn't begin until he was seated more or less comfortably.

"Well?"

"We got most of them."

"Most?"

A sigh. "It's impossible to get them all. You know that."

"I do. How much of a threat are the ones who remain?"

"We recovered all the missing ordnance that hadn't been detonated. The ringleaders have been eliminated. We cracked the code they've been using to communicate via email. We're in the process of backtracking to their major base of operations. The one in Arlington was only for that mission...not big enough for anything else. We're thinking they're in Texas. Once we get set up again..."

"How much help are you getting on that score?"

"Enough. I'll send word through regular channels if we need more."

"How are you...yourself?"

He looked at his leg. "I'll survive. All of us survived. That's the important thing. I don't like losing a team member."

The President looked out across the lawn bathed in moonlight. "Then, what is this meeting really about? You could have sent me the information you've given thus far."

Lawrence leaned back, massaging his leg slightly.

"It's about McGee."

"Yes?"

"We've heard the usual rumors...and I don't like what I'm hearing. In fact, it scares me."

"Scares _you_?"

"Yes. Are you going to allow McGee to be taken into permanent 'protective' custody?" he asked.

"I'm being urged to do just that. You think it's a bad idea, I take it?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Sir, you have that file...but what you don't have is experience with him. Amin agrees. In fact, I think Amin figured McGee out before the rest of us. That will destroy him. If you want him either mentally or physically dead, try and remove him from what little life he's managed to carve out of his existence. He can't live like us...and he can't live cut off from his life."

"Your plea is...passionate and rather unexpected...coming from _you_."

"He's not on my team, but he was. I think I got a glimpse of the man he used to be...and just the kinds of things that have happened already have eroded his...his personality. Sir, you can't do that to him...not and maintain your integrity."

The President didn't respond. He sat still, staring out at the moon. Lawrence knew he'd been heard, however, and he stood up.

"I have a plane to catch, Mr. President."

"Don't miss it."

"I won't, sir."

Alone, the President watched as Lawrence melted away into the night. Then, he sighed.

A decision had to be made. ...soon.


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

Tim opened his eyes and thought about how little he wanted to move. He felt more rested but still tired, stretched, aching. He knew the pain would only get worse when he sat up and started pulling the muscles on his back, straining the wounds he'd received. Ducky had brought him an actual meal last night and he'd eaten as much as he could stomach...but it hadn't been much. He was so worried about what would happen this morning that it was hard to get anything down his throat. Then, he realized that someone was in the room with him. That worried him and he tensed.

"McGee?"

Tim opened his eyes.

"Tony, what are you doing here?"

"Sitting."

"You look about as bad as I feel, Tony. How bad were you hurt?"

Tony looked uncomfortable. "Not as bad the others."

"I thought they might die," Tim whispered. "That doesn't say much for how you are."

"None of us are going to die, McGee."

"What time is it?"

"About 6:30."

Tim pushed himself up and groaned, the blanket falling from his shoulders. Tony's gaze was drawn to the large bruise. Tim noticed.

"Don't even think it, Tony."

"Think what?"

"That this," he pointed at the bruise, "means anything. It doesn't. It was a desperate attempt to fix my mistake. I'm just lucky it worked."

"That's–"

"Have you seen my shirt, Tony?" Tim asked, cutting him off. There was a warning in his eyes that Tony couldn't ignore. He may not totally understand it, but he recognized it for what it was. It was Tim begging him to stop.

"It's over there. Let me get it." He stood and limped over to the table. "It's bloody, you know."

"I know. I'll wear my jacket. No one will see." Tim held out his hand for the shirt. Tony only gave it to him reluctantly. Tim winced and let out a loud exhalation as he shift his arms around to put the shirt on. "You never really notice how much you move your back...until you can't," he said, smiling a little, although his face was pale.

There was a knock.

"Yes?" Tim asked, slowly buttoning up the shirt.

"Agent McGee."

"Director," he said.

Tony felt as though he'd suddenly become invisible. He was missing something vital about this meeting, whatever it was.

"Are you almost ready?"

"Yes. Just give me a little time. I move more slowly than I used to."

"You don't need to come, you know. In your state..."

"I need to, ma'am. No matter what."

"All right." Finally, Jenny looked away from Tim and at Tony. "How are you doing, Tony?"

Tony shrugged.

"Don't you have a session today?"

"Yeah."

Her voice was full of concern, not censure, as she said, "You'd better not miss it."

"I won't." Tony forced himself to smile. "You'd better say good morning to Abby. She'll never forgive you if you don't, McGee."

"You're right. Do I have time?" he asked, and Tony got the feeling he almost hoped he didn't.

"Yes, McGee, you do. Go on. I'll wait."

"Yes, ma'am." Tim took a deep breath and stood. He wobbled a bit and Tony reached out to steady him. "I'm okay, Tony. Really."

"You still can't lie, McGee."

"When it matters I can." Then, he walked out.

"Tony, you should get going."

"What's going on, Director?"

"Nothing that you can do anything about. Just wait. Maybe if you hope everything will work out...it will." She walked out of the room, leaving Tony alone.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Tim, you don't look much better than yesterday," Abby said, looking worried.

"I don't feel much better, but I'm upright," Tim said with a smile. "I have to go to a meeting with the director, but Tony told me I had to say good morning before I left."

"Can you give me another hug?"

"Sure." Tim wrapped his arms around her, feeling her arms tense as she kept herself from returning the hug. "Thank you, Abbs."

"For what?"

"For this. I have to go." He couldn't bring himself to say that he'd see her later when he wasn't sure if he would. Instead, he simply released her and walked away. Abby obviously understood because she didn't ask any questions and she didn't even say good-bye.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Make sure you drive carefully," Jenny directed her driver.

"Yes, ma'am."

Tim sat stiffly on the seat and tensed as the car started to move. He relaxed a little when it rolled smoothly forward.

"We'll get you there in one piece, Tim," Jenny said. "I just hope this helps."

Tim looked at her. "It can't possibly hurt."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

As they were escorted through the halls, Tim thought nostalgically about the time when, as a child, he'd gone on the White House tour. It had been short and he had been left with a burning desire to see more of it, just because he couldn't at the time.

_Now, I'm getting to see it...and I'd give up this chance if I could just get my life back._

"In here, please."

Jenny looked at Tim and he knew she still had major reservations about his gambit. It was desperation, pure and simple, but it was also the only way he could think of to forestall the inevitable. He nodded.

She walked in first and he followed behind. There had been some talking going on, but that all stopped for about ten seconds of stunned silence. Then, the room exploded with noise. Tim said nothing. Jenny said nothing. He scanned the room, meeting the gaze of every participant. ...except one. He allowed his eyes to skitter over Carew who sat, equally silently, seemingly amused at the consternation being expressed by his colleagues.

Tim could tell that one or two of them were on the verge of shouting, "Grab him!" but didn't dare. He stood, waiting for the sputtering to fade. Jenny sat down, but Tim did not. He was the one they were here to talk about and _he_ would be the one to do some of the talking. ...and he wasn't going to let them talk first.

"What do you think you're doing here?"

Tim didn't recognize the face of the one who asked that question.

"I might ask you the same question," he said softly.

He wasn't sure why, but that seemed to defeat him. Tim let out a little laugh.

"You're all here to decide what to do with me. Well, last time I checked, I was a citizen with rights. You all seem to have forgotten that. I'm here to tell you that you should carefully consider what you're willing to do to me. ...because I will _not_ be taken away from my life. I will _not_ work for you. I will _not_ allow you to destroy me."

"Allow?"

That was the head of the NSA. Tim only knew him by face, not by name.

"Yes. That's what I'm saying. Based on what was done to me two years ago, I already know how much torture I can withstand. So...if you try to insist that I go into permanent protective custody, as I know you're planning, you will have to physically force me to do any work for you...because I won't do it willingly. You might be able to get something out of me if you engage in the kind of torture that was done to me before. Are you willing to do that? Are you willing to become the kind of people you're trying to stop? Because that's what it will take to get me to work for you. You will have to torture me. You will have to threaten my family. You will have to, in effect, become criminals. Will you do that? Do you think that anything is worth what has already been done to me? I have been given speeches about the greater good already; so spare me that." Tim kept his back ramrod straight because he knew that he would expose his weakness if he moved at this point. Every eye in the room was on him. Jenny's expression was supportive. The SecNav, sitting beside her was also less than antagonistic. Other faces were uncomfortable, but some were downright annoyed at his display.

"You're here to make a decision and I can't hold out against the might of every federal agency in this country, but _you_ cannot hold out against me. I'll either break or you'll fail. There's no other option. I'm here to make you consider what you're willing to do and whom you're willing to tear down."

Tim clenched his teeth for a moment. He heard a door open, and saw the movement out of the corner of his eye, but he appeared to be the only one who had noticed.

"I am a human being. I am a citizen of the United States of America. I am not a slave. I am not a servant. I love my country and I have done my best to serve her ever since I joined NCIS. I have done what was asked of me, even at the expense of my own sanity. Have any of you done that? If not, how dare you expect it of me? How dare you try to _force_ that on me again?"

"Eloquent to say the least. And completely spontaneous I'm sure."

At the voice, everyone turned...and promptly stood. Tim turned and found himself staring at the most powerful man in the world. Just three years ago, he would have been elated, embarrassed and excited at the opportunity he now had. ...but at this moment, he felt only weariness and pain.

"Would you come with me, Agent McGee?"

"Sir, I don't think that..."

"Well, then, it's a good thing I make my own decisions then isn't it, Paul?" He looked at Tim again. "Shall we?" He gestured out the door through which he'd come.

Tim nodded mutely, casting one anxious glance at Jenny who didn't seem to know what to do herself. Then, he walked, as stiffly as possible, but not enough to prevent the pain. He followed the president, just a step behind him until they came to a door.

_This wasn't on the tour,_ Tim thought and felt a strange desire to laugh. He followed the president.

"This is one of the few places I don't have to worry about someone walking in on me," he said.

"It's not very exciting," Tim commented, and then added belatedly, "...sir."

"That's because foreign dignitaries don't get invited in. Would you like to sit?"

"Not particularly."

"All right. I've been wanting to meet you, Agent McGee...for quite some time."

"Why?" Tim asked.

"Because, unlike those people in there, when I read your file I see a person and not an asset."

"Then, why don't you stop them? If anyone could, it's you. You're the president of the most powerful nation in the world." Tim felt the tears lurking behind the laughter.

"Tell me why I should, Agent McGee."

"Why you _should_?" Tim asked, unsure if he'd heard correctly. "Can't you see it? Mr. President, can't you see what it's done to me already? If you've read my file, if you heard what I said in there...can't you see that this is killing me? No, it's not all at once, but by inches. This time...my team, my friends, they were almost murdered because of my involvement, because they were worried about me. Two of them are still in the hospital. The other one...he keeps looking at me as if he's afraid I'm going to break. ...and the problem is that I'm afraid of that, too. The first people I was involved with threatened me, my family, my friends. The CIA tortured me to make sure that I wasn't a security risk. I was commandeered by people operating under the radar and forced to help them commit murder...for the good of the country, of course. I was almost killed by them. I went crazy. Then, for a year, I was...on the verge of losing the job I love because of the need for secrecy. In the last few weeks, I've been forced into that world again, and I...I can't bear it. I can't function there. Mr. President...sir..." Tim blinked away the tears. "...please, I'm...I'm begging you. Don't let them do this to me anymore." He dropped his gaze to the floor, embarrassed by the pleading. "I won't do what they want me to do, sir...but if they try anyway...I won't make it. I don't have any more in me."

There was silence. It seemed to last a lifetime. Tim couldn't bring himself to make eye contact. He stared at the carpet. His eyes made it as far as the president's shoes. No farther.

"Lawrence was right about you."

The name made Tim jerk his head up. The orders had come from high up the ladder indeed. "Lawrence?"

"Yes. Lawrence. He was right. About you _and_ about me."

"What do you mean, sir?"

"I mean that as the President of the United States...and as a human being, I can't allow this to continue, not and keep my integrity intact. I can see it in your eyes, Agent McGee, in your stance. You are one of the walking wounded. Only your wounds go deeper than the shrapnel in your back."

Tim blinked in surprise at that revelation.

"I have very good sources, Agent McGee," the president said with a smile. "I also have the authority to make sure that you are treated as the human being and U.S. citizen that you are. However, I cannot guarantee that we will never need your services again."

"Not until I'm obsolete...or dead," Tim said, glumly.

"Exactly. You are a human being, but you are _also_ an asset. I can't ignore that completely. The CIA surveillance will have to continue in some capacity. Can you tolerate that?"

"I don't see that I have much choice."

"Can you tolerate it?" he asked again.

"Yes. I can."

"Then, Agent McGee, you are free to go. I expect you to keep your experiences under wraps, as they say, but you are not to become the latest arrow in the quiver of the USA."

Tim wasn't sure he had heard correctly, this time from the glimmer of desperate hope that had begun to burn inside him.

"Believe what I'm saying, Agent McGee, because I mean it. No one else will do this; so allow me." He stepped forward and stuck out his hand. "Allow me to thank you on behalf of a grateful nation, or a nation that _would_ be grateful if it knew the sacrifices you have made. Also, I hope you will allow me to apologize for the manner in which you have been treated. It is unconscionable."

"Thank you, sir. I can...accept your gratitude...and your apology...but I'm not sure I can forgive yet."

"I understand. Shall we? I don't have unlimited time."

"Do any of us?" Tim asked. He was trying not to think about his sudden freedom, afraid that it would disappear, vanish into nothingness.

"No. That is true."

They walked in silence down the hall, back to the room. People were arguing, again with the exception of Carew and Jenny. The SecNav was talking to Jenny in a low voice, but she was only partially paying attention. She saw Tim as soon as he came in and she stood, less out of respect for the president than out of concern for her agent.

"Sir?" she asked.

"You and Agent McGee are free to go," he said and smiled at her. He looked at the others. "I have just assured Agent McGee that his rights as a citizen are sacrosanct and that he will be able to resume his normal life without the protective custody offered so kindly by the heads of the federal agencies. I would like to continue to prevail upon the services of the CIA in protective surveillance, but that can be kept to a minimum."

Carew nodded silently, his expression one of amusement...and satisfaction.

"Agent McGee has received my promise that he will not be taken by anyone for work against his will. Any requests for his assistance will have to be approved both by him and by Director Shephard. Is that clear?"

No one spoke. The president turned.

"You may go."

Tim nodded and whispered, "Thank you, sir."

He and Jenny walked out of the room together and were escorted back to her car. The only outward expression of her worry was the tight grip she put on his arm.

"Tim, are you all right?"

"Please, let's go. I don't want them to change their minds." Tim felt as though the world were spinning around him, but he desperately needed to get back to NCIS, back to safety.

The drive was as smooth as the first had been. Tim didn't notice. He didn't notice anything. He barely felt Jenny's hand on his arm when they got out of the car at NCIS and walked to the elevator together. The extra pressure on his legs as the elevator rose felt like a ton of bricks.

"Tim..."

The doors opened on the bullpen. Abby, Ducky, Jimmy and Tony were all sitting together, talking. They turned when they heard the ding.

Tim took a step toward them, toward the normalcy he craved...but that one step was all he managed. Finally, assured of its safety, his over-taxed body collapsed, and his mind, strained almost to the breaking point, shut down.

Tim's last conscious thought was that at least he had made it that far.


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

There was a whirl around him. The room spun and the voices joined in. He caught only snippets.

"Can't we just..."

"...might as well..."

"It's a longer trip..."

"...in more danger?"

He couldn't seem to make his mind focus and he let reality whirl away, spiraling down into darkness, satisfied that he was safe enough to do so.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Are you sure? Bethesda's farther."

Ducky smiled. "He is in no serious medical danger?"

"No, but..."

"Then, I assure you that Bethesda is the better option. He has some friends for whom he has been very worried who are...residing there at the moment. It would be better if he could be close to them."

"All right."

"Don't turn him onto his back. The shrapnel..." Tony warned.

"We know. Let us do our jobs, please."

Tim, limp, white, so still, was loaded onto a stretcher and taken away.

"What happened?" Abby asked, almost as white as Tim.

"Don't worry, my dear," Ducky said. "I would assume that Timothy's body has merely decided that it needs to rest."

"What happened?" Tony asked, but his question was directed toward Jenny.

Jenny looked at Tony and wondered how much to tell. Her eyes flicked to Ducky's briefly and she caught his minute shake.

"We had to meet with some people at the White House about McGee's actions over the last couple of weeks...and about how things will be conducted in the future."

"He came back. Does that mean a good outcome?" Abby asked.

"Yes."

"So, that means that–" Tony began.

"It means that you should probably go to the hospital, Tony." She let her gaze extend to Ducky and Abby and Jimmy. "I will not insist on long hours today, but I do need to have a functioning agency."

"I understand, Director," Abby said, although she didn't look happy about it.

Ducky and Jimmy nodded.

It would be a very long day. ...and an even longer day after that.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The whirling slowed and finally stopped, allowing Tim to chance opening his eyes. He felt...like he'd just finished swimming through a million miles of molasses. Exhausted. His arms and legs were so heavy. In fact, his eyelids must have been helping because they felt very heavy as well. It seemed impossible to lift them. He tried though and when they did as he said, he felt as though it was a momentous occasion, deserving of praise.

...but there didn't seem to be anyone there.

_Where am I?_

He blinked at a snail's pace and tried to look around. He was lying on his side. He was in a hospital room. It was unmistakable.

_I had hoped to avoid going to the hospital for once._

He smiled to himself and began to see how much pain he was still in.

"McGee?"

That voice caused pain of a different sort. He didn't want to look around and see.

"McGee, are you awake?"

That voice wasn't any better.

"I think I should go and–"

That voice called for action.

"Tony, don't go," Tim said and was surprised that he had managed an almost-normal sound. He took a deep breath, steeled himself and pushed himself up on two very shaky arms before orienting his body toward the voices he'd heard. Exhausted by that much effort, he slunk back down on his side...facing Gibbs, Ziva and Tony: the three people he most wanted and most feared seeing.

"McGee...I am so glad to see you," Ziva said.

Tim's eyes shifted from Ziva to Gibbs to Tony who was halfway out of his chair.

"I'm sorry," Tim said, his voice dropping abruptly to the weak tremble he'd been expecting before. "You shouldn't have to be here."

"Where else would we be, McGee?" Gibbs asked, almost smiling.

"That's not what I mean. You all could have died." The tears wouldn't come. He felt them, but they were stubbornly refusing to fall. "You almost did. They wouldn't have let you live much longer." He looked at Ziva. "You were dying. I could see it. They almost killed you."

"They did not. They did not succeed. They lost."

"I killed them. ...some of them."

"Yes. I saw. You were very efficient."

Tim swallowed and looked at Tony who still looked as though he wanted to leave.

"If you want to go, you don't have to stay, Tony. If you want to leave..."

"No," Gibbs said. "No, Tony is not going to leave. He doesn't want to. We've all been worried about you, McGee."

"No need. I'm fine. A couple of scratches," Tim said, but he smiled weakly. "I'll be up and around before you know it."

"Tim, don't," Gibbs said, serious. "Don't hide again."

"I don't know what else to do, Boss," Tim said. "I can't do anything else. I have to."

"What happened to us is not your fault, McGee," Tony said.

"Yes, it is," Tim disagreed. "Let's be clear. You three would _not_ have been in Montana at all if I hadn't been there first. ...you wouldn't have thought you needed to come if I had broken protocol and just said that I was okay." He looked over their heads to the window. "I tried so hard to find you before it was too late."

"And you did, Probie."

"It wasn't soon enough. I tried, though."

"How _did_ you find us?" Ziva asked. "How did you get mixed up with Carew again? You said you would rather die than work for him."

The silence was deafening as Tim kept looking over their heads and not answering.

"McGee?"

Tim only blinked and wished he could think of a suitable lie. He couldn't. His promise to Carew loomed too large in his head for him to be able to create a believable falsehood. He couldn't tell them, couldn't bear the idea of telling them, of saying aloud what he'd said to Carew...what Carew had said to him.

"Tim, what happened?"

Tim swallowed past the large lump in his throat. It seemed to be blocking his airway.

"What did he do to you?"

"Nothing," Tim said, falling back on a totally inadequate fact in place of the truth. "Carew didn't do anything to me. ...in fact, he...he saved my life."

"How?"

"Got me away from the site of the explosion before any of the FBI could get to me. Alexis treated my injuries. They hid me." He swallowed again. "Please don't ask any more."

"Why, McGee?"

Tim pulled his eyes reluctantly from the window.

"Because...I can't lie to you...and I can't tell you the truth."

Tim saw the resistance in their eyes and he prayed they would just stop...because there was no mask. There were no lies. There was only his desperation to hide what was to come.

"We don't have to ask questions," Gibbs said, unexpectedly. "We can just be here."

Tim met his gaze. "I'd like that. Boss."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Director Carew, thank you for coming. Please, sit."

"Thank you, Mr. President. What can I do for you?"

"Answer a few questions."

"Like what?"

"Why was your voice the only one _not_ raised in outrage over my decision to terminate the unsatisfactory arrangement with Agent McGee?"

"Because it _was_ unsatisfactory."

"Why do _you_ feel that way?"

"Because I'm smarter than the other people who were in that room. I know, as they do not, that Agent McGee is far more valuable where he is right now than where they would put him."

"Valuable to you?"

"Yes. Of course. ...but valuable in general terms as well. A person will not do his best if he feels forced. Allow him space and he will be more willing."

"You know why I'm continuing CIA surveillance, I assume?"

"Well, I know why _I_ would continue it."

"Why is that?"

"Because I don't trust the other agencies to keep their hands to themselves."

"Then, tell me why I'm trusting your agency."

"Because you, like me, are very smart, Mr. President," Carew said, smiling, "and you know that I never do anything without a purpose."

"There is one more matter to discuss."

"That of your secret teams?"

"They don't exist."

"Of course. I would not have presumed otherwise."

"You have an interesting history, Director Carew."

"Yes, I know."

"You didn't want this position."

"No, I didn't."

"Then, why are you fighting to keep it?"

"Because I cannot see anyone better."

"Many would disagree."

"Is that all, sir?"

"Director Carew, what drives you?"

"Concern, Mr. President. Concern is what drives me. It is not patriotism. It is not fear. I am driven solely by concern." He stood. "If there is nothing else, Mr. President, I have an agency to run."

"That's all, Director Carew."

"Thank you, sir." He walked to the door of the office.

"Director Carew."

"Yes, sir?"

"I heard recently about the death of your son. My condolences."

Carew did not turn, but the president could have sworn he saw a slight tension in his shoulders, although Carew's voice was calm as ever.

"Thank you, Mr. President."

Then, he was gone. The president sat down and stared at the closed door. He wasn't sure how he felt about Director Carew, about his methods...about his motivations...but he was sure of one thing.

As long as Carew was in charge of the CIA, Timothy McGee was both safe and at risk, but he wasn't sure which part was stronger.


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

They allowed Tim to keep his secret, whatever it was. They knew, now, that if Tim didn't want to tell them, he wouldn't. The days went by and he recovered quickly, physically...as they all did...physically. ...but with Tim's reticence to talk to the people he most needed to talk to, it was difficult for the emotional healing to take place. He would talk...but he wouldn't really say anything. Abby, Ducky, even Jimmy could get more out of Tim than his teammates. ...but they couldn't get him to say what was wrong either. Not even Jenny knew the reason for his secrecy.

They just knew it was wrong.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs had finally been released that day. Ziva would follow in the next couple of days, if things went according to plan...and the doctors saw no reason why they wouldn't. Tim would be released in the morning. He could have left sooner but they had wanted to take special care because of his past history...after all, it was at Bethesda that he'd spent more than a week recovering from his psychosis just a year ago. They were careful about things like that. However, while he wouldn't be sleeping on his back anytime soon, there didn't seem to be any risk of a relapse. He was in danger of being bored by the hospital food. So there was no real reason to keep him there. ...but some of his friends wished there was.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Hey, Doc."

"Welcome, Agent DiNozzo. Have a seat. How are things going?"

"McGee's getting out tomorrow. Ziva should be soon."

"How are things going with _you_?"

"I'll be running laps in no time."

"Agent DiNozzo, remember that I suggested these sessions would go so much faster if you didn't try to obfuscate the issues?"

"McGee used that word once...obfuscate. I don't think I'd ever even _heard_ it before. That's the kind of guy he...was."

"He's not like that anymore?"

"No...I don't think so. He...He won't talk about it, not about _anything_ important. He's avoiding us as much as is possible being confined to a hospital room." Tony finally sat down. It always took him a few minutes to feel comfortable enough to do so. "He's getting out and..."

"And you're worried that he'll withdraw more?"

"I've apologized. I can't count the number of times...and I can't think of how many times I've told him that I really don't blame him, that..."

"Agent DiNozzo, you are placing too much emphasis on Agent McGee's healing. It cannot be a prerequisite for your own."

"I put him in that position."

"No, Agent DiNozzo. You didn't. Your actions, while no doubt painful, did not create the situation in which Agent McGee finds himself. His reticence does not reflect on you. It reflects on him and whatever experience he is still holding back. You need to recognize that. Stop taking responsibility for everything which has gone wrong."

"I'm not doing that."

"Agent DiNozzo, what you did under torture is hardly indicative of your general attitude."

Tony sighed. "I just...I just want things to get back to...whatever normal we can salvage from this...from...all this crap."

"That will take time."

"I know. I can't help feeling, though, that...that we're working under some sort of...deadline. What if we miss it? It took so long to help McGee back after the first time. After the second time...we let ourselves think it was all okay...and it wasn't. Now..."

"Yes, what about now?"

"Now, he's had to face being attacked by _everyone_. By terrorists, by his own country...by me."

"Agent DiNozzo..."

"No...I know." Tony sighed loudly. "I know that...that what I did wasn't the cause. But I keep thinking that if I'd been thinking about anything other than myself that I'd have noticed how much pain he was in."

"When?"

"Both times."

"I don't think you would have."

"Why not?"

"Because Agent McGee seems to have developed the ability to hide things like that. He didn't _want_ you know his pain."

"But I should have."

"No. No, there is no should have, no maybe, no might have been. Agent DiNozzo, what happened has happened and there's no going back. You can't move forward if all you can see is your past actions."

"What else is there?" Tony asked tiredly.

The psychiatrist smiled. "The future. You all have one now. Accept that you do and embrace it. Otherwise, none of you will heal."

"I can't do it. I'm not the only one ignoring the future."

"You can start. Then, when the others are ready, they can join you."

"I can't leave them behind."

"You aren't. Agent DiNozzo, if you can start moving forward, so can they."

Tony sighed again, wishing with all his heart that it was true.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Now, Agent McGee, remember..."

"I know. Follow the instructions, don't be stupid and stay off my back," Tim said with a small smile. He almost _felt _like smiling.

"Exactly. How are you getting home?"

"He's getting a ride."

Tim turned around. "Boss...what are you–?"

"Giving you a ride."

"I thought you were supposed to be resting," Tim said, although his mouth quirked into an almost smile.

"You implying that I can't drive, McGee?"

"No, Boss."

"Good," he grunted. "You ready to go?"

"Yeah." Tim picked up his bag, remembered at the last minute _not_ to throw it over his shoulder, and followed Gibbs out of the hospital room. As he got into the car, he sat stiffly, his back definitely _not_ touching the seat.

"It still hurt?"

"Not as much as it did, but yeah."

"You in a hurry to get anywhere?"

"No. My only appointment is with my bed tonight."

Gibbs turned the key and backed out of his spot, slowly, out of respect for Tim's injury. He himself was still recovering, but he had decided that talking to Tim was more important than lying around.

"Why don't you come over and work on your shelf, then?"

"My what?"

"Your shelf."

"What shelf?"

"The shelf you started before all this started."

"Oh." Tim laughed. "I started it because I wanted to have something to look forward to. How ironic that I forgot all about it."

"You up to it?"

"Sure. Sure, Boss."

Satisfied, Gibbs didn't drive to Silver Spring. Instead, he took the exit that would lead to his home.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Have at it, McGee. It's taking up too much space."

Tim smiled and walked over to the shelf, running his hands along it. It was dusty. He turned his back on Gibbs who was, ostensibly, going to be working on his boat. Instead, the two of them stood or sat in near silence for almost an hour. Gibbs didn't even pretend. Instead, he watched Tim who was simply holding the plank of wood he'd begun shaping into a shelf. What he was thinking, Gibbs couldn't tell.

"What do you want to know, Boss?" Tim finally asked, not turning around.

"You know what I want to know."

"I can't tell you."

"Can't? Or won't?"

"Can't."

"Why not?"

Tim put down the wood and faced Gibbs, sinking down onto the old broken stool which stood near him.

"I don't want to hurt you again."

"You think it would?"

"Yes. Especially Tony. All he did was get mad at me...completely justified. ...and he acts like he's the one who did all this to me. I told him it wasn't his fault, that I don't blame him. I can't hurt him anymore. Any of you. You're all recovering from something that happened because of what _I_ was doing, not because you were doing anything wrong. You can't do anything about it, and knowing would only hurt. So...what's the point?" He leaned forward and then had to rebalance as the stool wobbled dangerously.

"It's hurting _you_, McGee. Doesn't that deserve anything?"

"It is hurting me," Tim agreed. "But it's something I got into willingly. It _should_ hurt me."

Gibbs was already sitting, but he leaned forward. "I told you before all this started that you shouldn't do it alone. I meant it. I still mean it now."

Tim shook his head.

"Tim, we _need_ you to talk to us. You're right. We're all hurting, but if you keep holding back, we can't get better. We can't because you're a part of the team, a part of the pain and you have to be part of the healing as well."

"Telling you won't help. Nothing will."

"Don't do this alone, Tim. Even if I _can't_ actually help you. Don't do this alone. Let me know."

Tim shook his head again.

"No one else has to know if you don't want them to. We can keep it between us until the time is right."

"Who decides when it's right?"

"You do. This time, you get to decide. I won't force it on you."

"I don't want to tell you. I don't want to say it...out loud."

"If it's true, it's going to be true regardless," Gibbs said, silently hoping that Tim would finally confide in him. Knowing that he'd been keeping a secret for a year was hard enough, knowing that he was now keeping another secret only because he wanted to hold back the pain for himself and the others was harder.

Reluctantly, Tim nodded and took a deep breath, letting it out in a weak chuckle. "When I got away from them, I nearly died when I found out that I was in Montana. I didn't know where I was. That was part of the rules. I ran out of that mine knowing that I could be anywhere. ...and when I saw that I was in Montana, that I was so...so far from...from everyone...I just couldn't take it. I sat down on the side of the road and just...just sat. This retired couple stopped when they saw me...and they changed their plans...just like that. They drove me all the way to DC when they were only planning on going to Chicago." Tim laughed again but dropped his head and hid his face. Gibbs suspected he was trying not to cry.

"I...as we were driving, I decided that if this couple who knew nothing about me could so blithely do that, then, maybe I should let you guys help me. Maybe you should know what I'd been hiding from you. Maybe you could help if you knew."

"You were right."

"Please, Boss. Let me...let me tell it."

The fact that Tim was going through all this before explaining what was so incredibly horrible made Gibbs worried enough that the next word slipped out before he had time to think about it.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize. It's a sign of weakness." Tim looked up at him, raising his eyes just far enough to meet Gibbs' and he smiled slightly.

"Tell me."

His eyes dropped again. "I got back to the bullpen...and you were gone. All of you. ...and I...I went up to Director Shephard's office. She told me that she had been ordered _not_ to do anything to find you...because it might compromise my safety, the secrecy of the work I was doing. ...and that I was going to be...taken into FBI protective custody. All of that...and all I had been thinking was that I'd _finally_ get to tell someone."

Tim choked on his next words and he faltered. Gibbs could see that they were reaching the crux of the matter, and it worried him because there was an unsavory possibility in his mind.

"They weren't going to find you guys. They weren't even going to _try_. I was more important. What I was doing was more important. I...I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't let you be sacrificed for me. I decided that I was going to find you. No matter what."

"McGee..."

"Don't."

Gibbs again stopped himself from saying anything, but even as taciturn as he was, it was hard.

"Everyone was looking for me. NCIS couldn't do anything. The FBI, the NSA, DHS...they only cared about taking custody of me. They didn't care about you. ...besides, I don't know anyone in those places. ...but I needed help. I knew I couldn't find you on my own, not while trying to avoid being _protected_. So..." Tim stopped talking again, but before Gibbs could interject, he continued, his voice softer than ever. "I called...the CIA. I called Carew and asked for his help in finding you and in finding and stopping the terrorists. ...and I promised him anything if he would give me his help."

"McGee. You–"

"Don't," Tim said, his voice bitterly angry. His lifted his face and met Gibbs' gaze, eyes filled with tears. "Don't tell me that you aren't worth it. Don't tell me that I made a mistake. Don't...Don't tell me that I should have thought it through, that there were other options, that you would have rather died than have me do what I did. You don't understand. I..." He shook his head and looked over Gibbs' shoulder at the unfinished boat. "I couldn't _bear_ the thought of being responsible for more deaths. I couldn't stand the idea that you and Tony and Ziva might die because you were trying to save _me_." The silent tears escaped from his eyes and made slow tracks down his cheeks. He still didn't look Gibbs in the eye. "I would rather...would rather be dead myself than have that. I would rather put myself at the mercy of a man I despise for the rest of my life than live knowing that my life was considered more important than yours. ...and not even my life, just what I can do. I...couldn't...I-I couldn't, Boss. You don't understand. I go to sleep every night knowing that I'm going to dream of the people I killed. Maybe if I'm lucky, I'll dream of being tortured instead. I couldn't add your faces to the ones I already see. I couldn't do it. As awful as this is, it's a million times better than facing that every night. I couldn't. I couldn't, Boss." Tim dropped his head into his hands and began to cry audibly. Slowly, his hands curled and grabbed tufts of his hair.

"Seeing you in that house was the worst thing I've had to...to deal with in the last year. Knowing how bad it was, how much worse it could have been. It tore me apart. ...and...and Carew is honest, at least. He said he would help and he did. He did everything I asked of him, and more. ...and I know what you're thinking, Boss. You can't."

"Can't what?" Gibbs asked, although he knew what Tim meant.

"You can't stop this." Tim sat up, his eyes red, the green irises, dull rather than vibrant. "You can't change it. You can't free me from my deal. I made that deal, knowing fully what I was doing, knowing what Carew could ask of me, knowing that I'd have to do it. There's nothing you can do."

"What about you, McGee? What has he asked you to do?"

"That's the worst part, Boss. He hasn't asked _anything_ yet. He's holding it in reserve. He said he'd rather have me doing what I do for a while and keep the favor for later. I don't know what he'll want. I don't know when. I don't know...if I'll be able to withstand being dragged there again."

"Being dragged where?"

"Into that world populated by people like Carew, my handler, Lawrence. These people who know how to deal with it, how to live there. I _need_ the rules, Boss. I _need_ to know that there are limits, that there are places I can't go. I need that, and when I'm in that world, I don't have the limits. I don't have anything to stop me...and it changes me, Boss. It changes me and I don't like how I change." More tears. "I...I don't like who I am. I'm afraid that...that someday I'll be stuck in that world, that I'll be...be that person I hate. That's..."

Gibbs stood up and walked over to Tim, remembering at the last minute _not_ to touch his back, instead, gripping his arm tightly as he crouched down in front of him.

"You're not that person, Tim."

"I could be, Boss. I could so easily be."

"You're not. You won't."

"How do you know?"

"Because you're not in it alone. Not this time. This time, I know. I agree that I can't do anything...and I hate to admit that. But I _know_ what the problem is. You don't have to face it alone this time. You don't have to live knowing that your secret is known only to you."

"You see why Tony can't know?"

"Yeah. I see. You're right. At this point it wouldn't help him at all to know what you did for us. Ziva either. I'll keep it to myself."

"What about you?"

Gibbs sighed. "I wish you hadn't done it...but at the same time, Tim, I can't tell you how glad I am that you did. ...and I'm glad you trusted me this time, even knowing that there's nothing I can do to help you."

"There was a moment when I didn't care."

"What do you mean?"

"I woke up in a narrow canyon in Montana after falling into a gully. I saw the stars, right up above my head. There were so many of them. So many more than I see here. I'd almost forgotten how many there are." Tim smiled into the distance. "There was a moment when all I was doing was...looking at the stars." He laughed. "I was being chased by terrorists and I stopped to see the stars."

"You're allowed to do that, you know."

"Yeah."

"Will you let us in, now, Tim?" Gibbs asked, hoping against hope that Tim might finally understand what he wanted from him. "Will you let us start healing together rather than apart?"

"I can't tell them."

"You don't have to. You just need to stop avoiding talking about the things we experienced together."

"What will I say if they ask about Carew? I don't want to lie, but I can't tell the truth."

"They won't ask. Not now."

"How do you know?"

"Because _I_ wouldn't have asked. Now...now all we need is to get back something of what we were. The details don't matter right now."

"Boss...I..." Tim looked back over his shoulder at the unfinished shelf. "I really can't work on this right now. Maybe later. Could you give me a ride to my apartment?"

"Sure, Tim."

"Thanks." Tim stood and paused. "_Thank_ you, Boss."

"You always have access to my tools, Tim. Just say the word."

Tim nodded and smiled. They both knew what was really being said.


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

Tim waited to talk to the team, but now it was for a different reason. Ziva was on the verge of being released from the hospital and he wanted her to be free from that place like the rest of them. ...to put them all on equal footing. ...all equally damaged. There was also a problem. How did one gather one's friends and coworkers for the express purpose of talking about their issues? That worry kept Tim from really doing anything at all about it himself. He just planned on waiting until everyone was at work again, hoping that the topic would somehow...come up.

He had _planned_ on waiting...but for whatever reason, he couldn't. He'd talked to Gibbs, to Tony (although not enough; that was a whole other matter), but so far he hadn't talked to Ziva. That was mostly because of his fear of really talking to the one who had so nearly died from her experience.

It was cowardly, he knew, but he wasn't sure that he could _ever_ erase the image, more than that, the _feeling_ of holding Ziva in his arms and knowing that it was _his_ actions that had resulted in her being so broken, so limp, so fragile in a way that Ziva should never be. It didn't matter that she didn't blame him.

Tim stood outside the hospital knowing what he would be seeing once he stepped in. Ziva would be released soon. She was already healing, but how far did she have to go? Too far. She shouldn't have had to suffer at all.

The doors opened automatically once he forced his feet to move toward the entrance and then headed up to her room. He knew where it was. He got there much too quickly, but he knocked before he could worry more, before he could talk himself out of it.

"Come in."

She certainly _sounded _normal, perhaps a bit softer. He didn't open the door...and it wasn't automatic.

"Is someone there?"

Tim heard the shuffling sound that said she was getting ready to walk to the door. He hurriedly opened it.

"McGee."

"Hi, Ziva," Tim said, feeling a pang as he took in the bandages still on her wrists from her long restraint, the bandage on her arm from the burn. ...and everything else that he couldn't see but knew was there.

"Do not look at me like that, McGee," Ziva said, her voice harsh.

"Like what?"

"Do not let me see that you feel guilt about my situation." She turned and walked back to the bed, sitting down on the edge. "I hate that."

"Why?"

"Because I do not like being used...and they used me to cause pain in others."

"I'm sorry, Ziva."

She stood up. "How many times must I tell you that I do not _want_ you to feel guilt for me?" She was angry...sort of.

"Maybe I shouldn't have come," Tim said, standing as well. "It was a mistake. I'm sorry. I didn't want to make you feel worse." He turned and started to leave.

"That would be impossible." The voice was so soft that he almost didn't hear her.

"What?" He couldn't bring himself to turn around.

"You could not make me feel worse than I already do...knowing that I am the source of so much hurt."

"No."

"Yes, McGee. Tony looks at me and simultaneously feels guilty about letting me become so damaged and for giving into what they wanted. You look at me and feel guilty about the reason we were there in the first place."

"That's not you, Ziva," Tim said. "I don't need to look at any of you for that."

"Then, will you look at me now and forget the reasons why I am here? Will you simply look at me as..." She stopped. Tim almost turned around...but he couldn't bring himself to face her.

"As what?"

"As a friend who needs you to help her?"

"How can I help?"

"Turn around."

Tim obeyed her.

"I cannot hug you as I might wish to because that would only make things worse." She smiled and then walked back to the bed and sat down. Then, she patted the mattress. "But please, sit down beside me, not facing away. Please, let me see that you are not wallowing in your misery. ...and do not show me only the mask. I do not wish to see you hide how you feel."

Tim smiled and walked over to where she was indicating he should sit. "That's a tall order."

"That is better."

"What is?"

"You smiling."

"It doesn't last, Ziva. It never has, not for the last year. No matter how much I may want to, I can't keep smiling without lying to you."

"I am not asking for that. I know that you have had a hard time. I know that this life you are living is not what you want for yourself. I know that you hated seeing us in that house. I am not asking for you to ignore your own hardships."

"What _are_ you asking, then, Ziva?"

"Stop hiding from us. Stop hiding from me. Please...allow me to thank you now."

"No, Ziva," Tim said. "Don't thank me. Please."

"You saved me, McGee," Ziva said firmly. "You saved us all. You even put yourself between us and that man who was going to shoot us. You took a bullet for us."

"I had to."

"I know you feel it was necessary, but that does not mean that I should not be able to show my gratitude."

"Ziva..."

Ziva reached out and grabbed Tim's hand. "Please, stop letting them use me." Her eyes filled with tears...but she did not shed them. "I do not wish to be used by scum like that."

Tim looked down at her hand.

"...and I do not like seeing you react exactly as they would want you to."

For a long moment, Tim didn't say anything. He could see now more than ever that Ziva, like Tony, would only be hurt by knowing what he had done for them. It would be so easy just to allow himself to feel the pain he knew he deserved but seeing Ziva as close to tears as she had ever been in the time he'd known her told him that he was being selfish. For once, the team needed _him_ to be the strong one. It was a strange reversal of fortunes and one that he might have appreciated once upon a time. Now, however, he wished that he could still be the one considered the softy. It would be easier...but not better.

"I'll try, Ziva." He squeezed her hand. "I'll try for you... for both of you."

"Both?"

"You and Tony."

"What about Gibbs?"

Tim smiled...but didn't look up.

"We've kind of...reached an understanding."

"Understanding about what?"

_Ha. Gibbs said they wouldn't ask,_ Tim thought.

"About this...all that's happened. It's...why I...came here now."

"I am glad you did."

"Ah-ha! I knew you two were getting it on while I wasn't looking," Tony announced triumphantly from the doorway.

Tim looked up and smiled. "If holding hands is 'getting it on' then I think a lot of people are in a lot of trouble."

"You're telling me."

"How's it...going?" Tim asked, feeling awkward again.

Tony shrugged, obviously feeling the same.

"I...I'm not mad at you, Tony."

"I know, McGee." Tony walked all the way into the room and slumped down on one of the chairs. "I wish you would be, though."

Tim looked at Tony in surprise and then, incongruously, felt a stirring of annoyance.

"Why? So that you could justify being mad at me? How would that help anyone or anything, Tony?"

Tony didn't rise to the edge in Tim's voice. "I'd have felt better."

Tim wasn't sure why he was feeling so annoyed. No, it was worse than annoyance now. He was almost mad, just like Tony wanted him to be.

"Well, _deal_ with it," Tim snapped.

Tony lifted his head, a little shocked. "What?"

Tim let go of Ziva's hand, stood up and walked around the bed to tower over Tony. He didn't tower over the senior agent very often and while he didn't like the circumstances, he did like the feeling. Ziva was watching them both with an expression of resignation. It was something that needed to happen although she didn't seem happy about it.

"I said _deal_ with it, DiNozzo! You know what? The things you said to me in that house hurt. They really hurt. I'm not going to pretend they didn't. What you said was cruel, even if it _was_ true. I already know, more than you could possibly understand, that this happened because of me. Even if you don't blame me for it, it still happened because of me, or at least because of what I was doing. You feel bad about hurting me? Fine. Feel bad but _stop_!"

"Stop what?" Tony asked, straightening up in his seat, a little fire in his own voice. "Like you? Stop feeling anything because it only makes you screw up more? Stop regretting what happened? Should I stop trying to work through it because it makes _you_ feel bad, McGee? Huh? Is that what you want?"

"What I _want _is for you to...to..." His voice caught. "...to stop acting like I had nothing to do with it. It doesn't help. Pretending that this was all just an unfortunate accident won't make it go away. It can't go away. Not now...maybe not ever. And you're not helping by wanting it to."

"Do _you_ not wish it to be how it was, McGee?" Ziva asked.

Tim felt the hopelessness of his situation begin to pile in on him again, but he pushed it away.

"What I wish is irrelevant. Do you know why? Because no matter what I wish, no matter how hard I might hope for it, it won't happen. The past has happened already. There's no going back. There's no changing decisions that have been made. There's no changing what I've done. I'm going to have to live with that...for the rest of my life. I don't want to...cheapen the lives of the people I had a hand in killing by acting like it was some sort of _oops_ moment. Like I didn't know what I was doing when I helped those people." He looked at Tony again, wishing that he could get Tony to believe him. "Tony, what you did...it's already happened. Don't we all have things we regret? Just because you got the immediate effects of your..." He smiled wanly. "...bad decision to hit me doesn't mean that you have to mentally flog yourself. You've got to know that already."

"Do _you_?" Tony retorted.

"Yes. My problem is that the poor decisions I made...I can't apologize for. ...except for you guys."

"Well, you've already done that. So knock it off, Probie."

Tim gave a lopsided smile. "You first."

Tony returned the smile and then sighed a bit. "How pitiful are we? You rescue us from terrorists and we're blaming each other for it."

"Not blaming each other," Ziva corrected. "We are blaming ourselves."

"You're right. It needs to stop." Tony looked at them both. "So...which of you has the magic wand to wave and clear it out? I think I left mine at home."

"It must stop with _all _of us," Ziva said, firmly. "We cannot work together if we all feel the need to make up for something we have done."

They all looked at each other in silence. Tony, of course, was the one to break it.

"So...do we have a group hug now, or what?"

"No. I'm not really up for hugs at the moment," Tim said. He was impressed that Tony managed to repress his own wince almost entirely. "You two can feel free, though."

Ziva gave Tony a mock glare. "I am not Abby."

"Okay, so...no hugs." He wiped a hand across his brow. "Whew. I was getting a little worried."

There was a knock on the door and they all turned, subconsciously expecting Gibbs to show up. ...but it wasn't Gibbs. It was a nurse.

"Officer David, it's time for your examination."

"Now?" she asked, testily. "Must it be now?"

"If you want to be released soon, then, yes. It must."

Ziva sighed, but her eyes were excited at the prospect of getting out of the hospital. Tony and Tim both got the hint.

"We'll get out of the way," Tim said quickly. "Will you need a ride, Ziva?"

She shook her head. "No. Gibbs has already told me he will be giving me a lift." She smiled. "I think he is trying to get back his image of being invincible."

"He gave me a ride, too," Tim said. "Now, I'm suspicious."

"Well, he was still in the hospital when I got out..."

"I'm sure he'll make a point of it."

The nurse made motions for them to leave and so they did, walking together out of the building...in silence.

In the parking lot, however, Tim had a question.

"Why did you come here, Tony?"

"Why did you?"

"To talk to Ziva. I've been avoiding it and I knew I couldn't anymore."

"I...figured you'd both be here. I was...waiting."

"In the parking lot?"

"Yeah."

"So...you saw me come?"

"Yeah."

Tim stopped walking.

"What, McGee?"

"Are you okay, Tony? I mean, really. No jokes. Are you okay?"

Tony had the fake grin half-pasted onto his face before he let it go.

"No. Not yet," he said, shrugging nonchalantly. "I will be. Just give me a little while."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Even I can admit to needing a shrink every so often."

Tim smiled and nodded. "Okay." He turned toward his car.

"Are _you_ okay, McGee?"

Tim stopped walking, but he couldn't turn back to face Tony just yet. Whenever someone asked him that question, he wanted to cry...but Tony and Ziva were the last people who should see that. They would realize that he hadn't told them everything. They were too smart to miss the implications. ...but he couldn't lie.

_I can cover it with other stuff. There's certainly plenty of things that could be bothering me._

"McGee?"

Tim turned back. "No. I'm not...but I'm better than I was."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that before I was dealing with it alone. Now, I'm not. That's better. Not even the President could guarantee that I'll never have to do this again, but he could guarantee me at least some freedom."

"The President? You met the President?"

"Yeah. He's a pretty nice guy."

"And you're so blase about it, too. Who else important have you met?"

"Tony, I was nearly passing out when I was talking to him. It wasn't my finest hour and a lot of it is a blur." That was a lie, but Tim didn't want to confess to sobbing and lecturing the President of the United States. "I can be blase now, but if I met him again...I think I'd be properly awed."

"How's your back?"

"Getting better, but I'm still sleeping on my stomach or on my side. I was lucky, though. A little slower, a little stronger explosion and I'd probably be dead, not just aching."

"And are you sure you're happy about that?" Tony asked with surprising perspicacity.

"Nearly."

"McGee..."

"What?"

"Thanks."

Tim swallowed back his denial. "You're...welcome, Tony."

"That was hard to say, wasn't it."

"You have no idea."

"Well, I'm glad you said it."

Tim grimaced. "I'm going home."

"You need a lift?"

"No, I'm cleared to drive."

"See you tomorrow, then?"

"Yeah. And, Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"Not your fault."

"That's my new mantra, kid." Tony grinned and gave Tim a salute before walking to his car. Tim watched him drive away and then walked to his own car. He opened the door and got inside...but he was prevented from closing the door by a hand on the frame.

"You've got some people very upset, Agent McGee."


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33**

Tim jumped at the voice and looked up at his would-be assailant.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

Fornell leaned down. "Fulfilling an order."

"From whom and what are you planning on doing?" Tim asked, trying to suppress his fear.

"Just delivering a message, Agent McGee; so don't get all anxious."

Tim got out of his car, forcing Fornell to back up a couple of steps.

"People like you don't ever just deliver a message. They picked you for a reason and I'm assuming it's because my CIA tails, wherever they happen to be at the moment, will recognize you as someone I know and...almost trust."

"Almost?" Fornell asked, smiling.

"Can't quite."

"I can accept that."

"What do you want?"

"You must have made quite the speech at the White House, Agent McGee. My superiors have their panties in a twist because you have managed to finagle the support of the President as well as the might of the CIA in your cause of avoiding serving your country to the best of your ability." He recited the long sentence in a single breath.

"Oh, please. This is _not_ about my service to my country," Tim said bitterly. "This is them sulking because they lost. All they wanted was control...and I managed to maintain a degree of control over my own life and they don't like that. Tell me, Agent Fornell, do they see me as human being or as an extension of computer hardware?"

"Oh, I'm sure it's the latter down deep inside their blackened souls, although they'd never admit it."

"What about you?"

"What about me? I have nothing to do with this."

"Right, just like the NSA never spies on US citizens."

"Careful what you say, Agent McGee. You never know who might be listening in."

Tim smiled...or rather the mask smiled. "I have a pretty good idea of who might be listening in, even now. Are _you_ wired?"

"Of course not," Fornell said, but he grinned cynically and Tim got the message.

"Then, what's the message?"

"I'm supposed to tell you to consider your decision very carefully. There are things that could happen that might be unpleasant."

"To whom?"

"You, of course. This is all strictly in the interest of your safety."

Tim didn't bother to hide his eyeroll. "My safety? If I didn't have so many people worried about my _safety_, I'd be a lot better off."

"There are people out there who–"

Tim cut him off. "People who might want to take control of me and what I can do. Yes, I know that. So far, that's the FBI, DHS, NSA...anyone else I'm missing?"

"Terrorists?"

Tim laughed but that was to keep the tears from his eyes. "Did you know that I've been in more danger from people who were already supposedly serving this country than I have been from these nebulous terrorists?"

"So, I take it you're not being swayed?"

"No. You can tell your bosses and other people who might be interested that I wouldn't work for them if they paid me. They all have teams of people who are very skilled. I'm not off scot-free. I have a job to do and I have the President's assurance that I will be able to keep doing it. As for 'serving my country', I can't in good conscience ignore what I can do. That being said, _I_ will decide, not them. They will not force me to give up my life again. Never. I'll die first."

Fornell's expression was almost sympathetic and he didn't even have anything sarcastic to say. Instead, he slipped Tim a piece of paper. Tim looked down at it.

"So...Agent Fornell, what about you?"

"What do you mean?"

"How do you see me?"

Fornell shrugged. "You haven't changed all that much since the first time we crossed paths. I still see you the same way."

Tim smiled.

"You know, your superiors are pretty lucky that I'm such a staunch American."

"Why is that?"

"After all the crap they've put me through, it would be more logical to abandon the United States all together and find someone who will treat me like a human being with rights." Tim felt his smile fade and his eyes became bleak. "Most people probably would have when faced with the worst of that this country has to offer the people it wishes to exploit. ...but I can't do that. ...not yet, anyway." He sighed. "Is that all, Agent Fornell?"

"That's all. I'll relay your reply."

Tim nodded and got back in his car, shutting the door. He looked down at the message.

_Don't assume that you're totally safe. Stay on your toes, Agent McGee. When you're playing the game at this level, it can get dangerous...no matter who is on your side._

"If it's not one thing, it's another." He sighed again and then turned the key and drove away.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim didn't mention his conversation with Fornell to anyone, but he added the message to his little box. He had known this would be a risk of making his discontent relatively public. He hadn't expected Fornell to be the messenger, though. Fornell...who was at least partially on his side. He'd made that clear enough, just by delivering his nonverbal warning, and Tim was grateful for it. It was nice to have some confirmation that not everyone outside NCIS was as cold and calculating as the people who ran the agencies.

Besides, even with this slight difficulty, he had to admit that his situation was much better than it had been. That night, he took a few extra steps to help ensure his continued freedom. Not for nothing was he wanted for his computer skills. Now that he had his freedom again, no matter how many caveats there might be, he wasn't willing to give it up again. He _couldn't_ give it up again, not and survive the madness that was his life.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was a surprise to no one that the MCRT began showing up at NCIS, even though they were all clearly not ready to be back.

Tim, ironically, recovered first...only because Tony was still going to his required psych visits and was not allowed to return to active duty until cleared by the psychiatrist. Gibbs and Ziva still had some time, both with the psychiatrists and just allowing their bodies to recover. For what might be the first time, Gibbs' age was a factor and it delayed his recovery.

One Monday morning, Tim was sitting at his desk, plowing through cold cases. It was boring...and he cherished it. These moments which were normal. He craved them now. Who needed the exciting, dangerous cases when there were things he could make a big difference without getting people killed?

"Agent McGee?"

Tim looked up. "Cynthia." He smiled a little. "I suppose you're not here to tell me what you did before you started working for the Director."

She smiled. "No...although I'm sure you can guess."

"I'd like to hear it from you."

"Well, today is not that day. Director Shephard wants to talk to you."

"I figured." He stood up to follow her.

"Probie!"

Tim turned and looked at Tony who was just stepping off the elevator.

"Morning, Tony."

"Where you off to?"

"Clandestine meeting with the Director."

Tony raised his eyebrow because even with the light tone, there was something serious there as well. Even if he didn't know the real story, he knew there was something going on...possibly.

"I'll be back," Tim said. "I promise."

Tony tried to give him a blase smile, but he knew he failed.

Tim followed Cynthia up the stairs and then walked past her into the office.

"Agent McGee, you're looking much better."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Please, sit."

Tim chose a chair and he watched Jenny carefully. She was worried but didn't seem overly stressed. That was something anyway.

"It's not over, you know, McGee," she said seriously.

"I know, but I'm in a much better position that I was before."

"I know. I just regret that we can't free you from this completely. There are some people who won't take no for an answer...not even from the President."

"I know," Tim said. "I've taken my own precautions. In fact, I'd like to ask you to pass along some messages for me."

Her eyebrows lifted. "Oh?"

"Yes. I have CIA tails already, but I don't want to rely on them, nor do I want to rely on any one person to save me. That's been part of my problem in the past. I'm going to take matters into my own hands as far as I can."

"What is the message?"

"Tell the other agency heads that should they decide to try and work around the guarantee given me by the President, it will not remain a secret. Seeing as they only value me because of my computer skills, they should at least believe me when I say that I have set up electronic safeguards in the form of possible leaks of the kinds of information that would be unfavorable should it come to light."

"You are asking me to help you blackmail them."

"No. These are things that have happened to me...and only to me. I would be a fool if I didn't gather evidence of what has been done to me...by so-called patriots. I'm not going to be specific about what I've done for myself. That would simply be begging them to get around them. If it remains vague, they don't know what they have to do and they'll be more cautious. Let them know that I will guard my freedom as jealously as any early patriot and I will not be made a slave to _anyone_, not to a man or to an agency or to a government."

Jenny stared at him with a strange mixture of sadness and respect. "I'll tell them, Agent McGee. I'm glad we have you here."

"I'm glad I'm here, Director Shephard."

"There's more you have to face, isn't there."

Tim smiled...and didn't answer.

"Is that all, ma'am?"

"Yes. That's all, Agent McGee."

"Thank you, ma'am." Tim stood and walked to the door.

"Tim."

Tim stopped, but didn't turn around.

"Good luck...on whatever it is you won't tell me."

Tim closed his eyes briefly.

"Thank you, ma'am. I'll need it." Then, he opened the door and left.

"McGee," Cynthia said, standing up from her desk.

"Yeah?"

"You need help...any time. You can call on me."

Tim smiled at her. "Thank you...Cynthia. I'll remember that."

"Good." She sat back down and continued her work.

Continuing down to the bullpen, Tim saw Tony sitting at his desk, trading jabs with Ziva who must have just arrived.

"I bet I will be back at work full time before you are, Tony."

"Oh, come on! You just got out of the hospital a week or so ago!"

"Two weeks. As soon as I have a satisfactory checkup, I will be physically capable once again."

"I'm already physically capable. So there!"

Sensing dangerous waters ahead, possible hurt feelings or worse, Tim intentionally banged his knee into the railing and cussed loudly enough to be heard by his colleagues.

"McGee!"

"Told you I'd be back."

"What did the Director want with you?"

"Just to see how I was doing. She's been worried apparently," Tim lied easily. Every time he saw Tony and Ziva, no matter how improved, he felt no guilt about lying to them. It would save them more hurt than it could possibly cause.

"Well, I, for one, am glad to see you looking so much better," Ziva said. She stood, carefully, and hugged him.

"Why does McGee get the hug?" Tony complained.

"Because I know that McGee will not think of it as anything other than a hug. _You_ will read into it things that are disgusting." She smiled winningly as she released Tim who turned and grinned at Tony.

Tony pouted but smiled, too.

"Where is Gibbs?"

"He wouldn't have stayed home would he?"

"He might...working on his boat, you know. He's probably secretly been wishing for it."

_Thwack!_

"Thanks, Boss. When did you get here?" Tony asked, smiling. The headslap was so light it barely merited the appellation.

"Before you did, DiNozzo." Gibbs looked at Tim. "McGee."

"Yeah, Boss."

"Okay?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah."

"Good. What cold case have they put us on now?"

"That would be the always-scintillating Gromberg case," Tony answered. "Read by many, solved by none."

Gibbs rolled his eyes.

"I was just about to go down and talk to Abby about rerunning a few of the old tests using the newer equipment," Tim said.

Gibbs inclined his head, sending Tim off. He walked to the elevator, knowing they were watching him. ...but at least _these_ watchers were on his side. He looked up as he waited for the elevator to arrive. Nikki Jardine was walking along the balcony; her eyes met his for a moment and then she looked away and continued on her path.

The fact that one of his _colleagues_ was reporting to someone else really rankled, but even that irritation was fading. Tim felt a strange calm. It was...he wasn't sure what it was, but he hadn't felt this way in ages. The doors opened and he got on, heading down to the lab, down to Abby.

As he walked into her space, Tim felt himself smile. It was so nice to see Abby doing her thing...in this case, chattering to Ducky about something that was probably important...or had been when she started. The two of them were masters of tangents.

He cleared his throat, loudly.

"Timothy, what brings you down here?"

Abby passed on the questions and just hugged him.

"Not so hard, yet, Abbs," Tim said, quickly.

"Sorry."

"It's okay. I'm just not up to your usual hugging standards yet."

Abby grinned as she let him go.

"Don't let me interrupt."

"Oh, no. Abigail was simply trying to explain the finer points of some of her favorite music. I had come up to..." Ducky paused. "I can't even recall my reasons." He laughed. "Too long off in the realms of death metal, I suppose."

Tim laughed and then stopped abruptly when both Abby and Ducky looked at him in surprise.

"What?"

"I can't remember the last time I truly heard you laugh, Timothy."

"Me, neither, Tim. It's nice," Abby said, her voice soft.

Tim thought back over the past couple of years. He couldn't think of a time when he had laughed just out of amusement, rather than to keep himself from crying.

"Maybe I can make it more of a habit."

Abby hugged him again. "You should. Now...what did you want?"

"We're looking at the Gromberg case...again."

"Man, if I have to look at those tests again, I'll puke."

"Well, I was hoping that you might be able to avoid that and run the tests again...from the beginning."

Ducky stood. "I'm sure that I have things I should be doing. Perhaps I'll remember why I came up here once I return to Autopsy." He walked toward the door, but stopped at Tim. "We're all glad you're back, lad. Remember that." Then, before Tim could answer, he continued on his way.

Tim watched him go and stared at the doors for a little longer before Abby tapped him on the shoulder.

"Timmy, you said you had stuff for me to do."

"Yeah. Sorry." Tim turned back. "I was thinking that we could..."


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34**

It was a long-ish day, but not overly difficult physically. Since half the MCRT was not up to physically-challenging work, that made a lot of sense.

"Okay, you two need to get back on the active duty list because I am sick of reading about the Gromberg case," Tony grumbled as he logged off.

"Maybe if we solved it, it wouldn't keep coming up," Tim suggested.

"Go ahead, Probie. You first."

Tim smiled. "It was just a suggestion."

"Well, we will not be solving it today," Ziva said. "It is still as empty a plate as it was before."

"Okay, where in the world did you get that one?"

"Empty plate."

Tony shook his head. "Not getting it."

Ziva looked at Gibbs and then Tim. "I know it is close. There is even a Latin phrase."

"What's the phrase?" Tim asked.

"Tabula rasa."

"That's _clean slate_, not empty plate."

"I was close, yes?"

"That's usually referring to the brain and the nature vs. nurture argument," Tim said.

"Well, in terms of this case, are not all our brains clean?" she asked with a mischievous grin.

"Certainly of anything valuable," Gibbs muttered and stood up. "No more arguments about idioms until I'm out of the building."

Tony nodded and gave a mock salute...for which Gibbs gave him a headslap on his way to the elevator.

"Drinks?" he suggested once the doors had closed.

"You paying?" Tim asked.

"I'm not that crazy, Probie," Tony said. "You can buy your own wussy drinks."

"Fair enough."

"Ziva?"

"Yes, I will come. I think we should invite everyone."

"What about Gibbs?" Tim asked...and then, added, "I'll catch him. You two get Ducky, Abby and Jimmy."

He took off before they could stop him. He skipped the elevator, choosing, instead, to take the stairs. Gibbs, needing to take it easy still, had not yet reached his car.

"Boss!" he called.

Gibbs stopped and turned around.

"What is it, McGee?"

"We're going to go to the bar for a couple of drinks. Would you like to join us?"

Gibbs looked at him for a long moment.

"Boss?"

"How are you doing, McGee? Really."

"I'm...okay, Boss. Things aren't wonderful, but I'm okay."

"Why?"

"Because it's so much better than it was. Because the secret I'm keeping is something I'm not keeping alone. Because I have more control over my own life now than I did just a few weeks ago."

"What about Carew?"

Tim felt the familiar twisting of fear in his gut. "It's going to come whether I want it to or not. I'm just going to try and live my life as much as I can. If I can forget it for a while, so much the better."

"What created this new ideal?"

"A message from someone who was unexpectedly on my side."

"Who was that?"

"Fornell."

Gibbs' eyebrow raised in mild surprise but didn't ask any questions.

"Amin told me once that I don't have to look at my life as something that just sucks before I die. It's more than that, and now I have the chance to maybe get past the part that sucks."

Gibbs nodded. "If you can remember that, you'll be better off."

"I know."

"That doesn't get you off the hook for keeping me informed."

"I know."

"I'll show up there...later."

"What?"

"The bar."

Tim flushed. "Oh. Right. I'll tell the others." He turned to go.

"McGee!"

"What?"

"You still have an unfinished shelf in my basement."

Tim smiled. "I'll finish it, Boss. I promise."

"When?"

"Tomorrow?"

"Okay." He walked away.

Tim jogged back into the building and rejoined Tony and Ziva...along with the others.

"So? What's the word on el Jefe?" Tony asked.

"He's going to come later."

They all left together.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Last round?" the bartender asked.

Tim looked around. No Gibbs so far. Tony noticed his glance and smiled.

"Hey, add a bourbon to the round," he said. "He'll get here, Probie...if he said he would."

The drinks were set out and, seemingly on cue, Gibbs was seen weaving his way through the crowd.

"I think a toast is in order," Ducky said as they all picked up their drinks.

"Go ahead, Duck."

He raised his glass. "To friends, past, present and future," he said simply.

There was a pause and then all raised their glasses with gentle clinks and there were soft murmurs of agreement.

"To friends."

They drank the last round quietly and then all dispersed to their homes.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim walked into his apartment and moved to his box, the one he'd made and stained more than a year ago. He opened it, pulled out a flash drive and pushed it into the USB port on his tower. Once it was ready, he opened a document and began to type.

_After two years, I think I might just understand how I can live with what I've done. I will never accept that there is a justification for my actions in the past, but I see now that there is more to my life than that past I so abhor. I have friends. I have a life. I have a job to do. This job will cover more than I ever thought when I first joined NCIS, but it is still my job...and what's more, I'll finally have a real say in what I take on. I think that has been one of the worst parts...this feeling I've had that my life is out of my control. Even when Director Shephard was calling the shots...it still wasn't me. Up to now, my life has been controlled by my handler, by Carew, by Director Shephard, by Lawrence... Now, I can no longer cast blame on others for how things work out. Even with my promise to Carew hanging over my head, I still have a choice._

_Gibbs knows about Carew. That's both a blessing and a curse because part of me is afraid that he'll try and be a part of whatever Carew asks me to do. I don't want more lives hinging on decisions I made in the past...or decisions that were made for me. ...but I want someone to know what it is I gave up for them. It's a selfish desire, but I do want it. I want to be able to depend on that...maybe it's because I know that, eventually, the luck that has so far kept me alive will run out. When that happens, it might take out whoever is with me as well. I don't want that. I won't accept that possibility._

Tim sat back and stared at what he had written. It didn't come even close to covering the details of his thoughts, but that wasn't really what it was for. It was a record of his life in case his life was lost. He wanted people to know what he had done. He wanted people to know the things he couldn't tell them during his lifetime. This was more than a journal...and less.

It was both an explanation and an epitaph.

Tim looked at the screen for a moment more and then saved it and closed the file. He scanned through the other files and saw nothing that needed updating. He opened a program on his hard drive, changed the access passwords for it and then programmed the access onto the flash drive. Satisfied, he removed the drive and replaced it in the box before replacing it on the shelf.

He went to bed, knowing that he'd had enough to drink that it would be dangerous to drive. Especially combined with his lethargy.

With all the things that could kill him, the last thing he needed was to kill himself in an accident.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Morning, Boss."

"The wood is over there, McGee."

Tim nodded and walked over to the shelf. He began to feel the wood, trying to get back into the mindset he'd had when he'd begun it. After half an hour, he felt confident enough to begin working on it. He heard Gibbs constructing the keel of his latest boat behind him and he smiled to himself, thinking about how nice these times were. His father, heck, his whole family would never believe that he was enjoying the clumsy carpentry he was doing.

They both worked in silence for a few hours. When they stopped for a break, Tim looked at Gibbs and knew there was something he had to say.

"Boss?"

"Yeah?"

"Just in case..." He hesitated.

"What?"

"When Carew calls on me again..."

Gibbs turned around and stared at him silently.

"It's...I've been keeping a...a record, I guess, of what's been going on...and some other things. If...If something were to...happen to me from...from whatever comes up."

"Spit it out, McGee."

"There's some things you guys will need to know. They're hidden in my box in my apartment."

"Hidden?"

"Hidden in plain sight seems to work for me."

"If something happens?"

"I've come so close to dying, Boss. I highly doubt that whatever Carew decides he needs from me will be safe...or simple. I just..." Tim met his gaze, with a bit of embarrassment. "...don't want to die and be forgotten...or be lost and have no one I care about know what I've been doing. I can't tell them now, but if I die, they deserve to know something."

"In your apartment?"

"On the shelf."

"What shelf?"

Tim smiled and pointed at the wood behind him. "This one...if I finish it."

Gibbs stared at him again. Then, he nodded.

"You should probably get back to work then."

Tim nodded. "Yeah, Boss." He turned back.

"McGee?"

"Yeah?"

"No one would forget you anyway."

Tim felt a feeling of warmth spread through him.

"Thanks, Boss."

"You're welcome."

Then, he continued to fashion the shelf.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

That night, Tim walked into his apartment, a newly constructed, stained shelf in one hand and a can of varnish in the other. He cleaned off one of his metal shelves, removed it from the wall and put up the wooden shelf. He still had to varnish it, but he could see how it was going to look. The result did make him chuckle a bit. It was so different from the rest of his shelves, but still...

"I like it."

With a smile, he took it down and set it on his writing desk. That made him pause for a moment. He hadn't written for a long time. A very long time...and he felt no real desire to do so. His real life had taken on all the trappings of a suspense novel. Where was the need for living vicariously through other characters?

With a mental shake, he turned back to his computer. Life rarely turned out the way one expected. What he had to do was learn to accept what he could get. He walked into his bedroom and looked out his window...

...across the street...

...he caught the flash of a camera...

There was always someone watching. ...but he pulled his gaze from that evidence of his life and looked upward. Climbing out the window, he mounted the fire escape, going up to the roof of his building. Then, he looked up. He couldn't see a lot of stars there. Silver Spring might not be New York City, but the DC Metro area was densely populated and there were plenty of street lights whose glare would cover the celestial lights farther up.

That didn't really matter too much, though. He looked at the ones he could see and remembered that moment when he had stared up at the stars in the mountains of Montana and appreciated their beauty, even in the midst of the turmoil surrounding him. He looked down at the building across the street, but again brushed the feeling aside and turned his gaze back on the sky. Then, he closed his eyes and instead of seeing the sparse sprinkling of stars Silver Spring offered him, he saw the star-studded heavens of Montana. ...and he smiled.

_Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light  
__I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night._

FINIS!


End file.
